As appreciative as I am that my mother integrated perfectly into American society, she still occasionally reminds me that she was born a village girl.
Just a few moments ago, she became genuinely distressed that I'd spent a twenty my estranged father gave me as holiday money. After a good minute of flailing her arms about, I finally got her to admit she felt it was cursed. Yeah, really.
I ended up taking another twenty from my room and passing it off as the offending banknote. She seemed much happier after I exchanged it with her for one of her own.