April 14th, 2000
Bag it, please!
Anyone who knows me well knows how paranoid I can be.
When the Killer Bees crossed over from Mexico, I armed myself with Raid and hid under a net hat. If I ever venture
to the beach, I'm always one hundred feet clear of the water in case a shark comes on land. I've even been known
to run down the hallway in the dead of night just in case something should reach out and clutch my ankle from the
I'm terrified of crickets, wasps send me shrieking, and I am convinced one of my children will eventually hang
themselves from a venetian blind cord someday. They will stick a fork in the toaster, if only to judge for themselves
why I have slapped warning labels all over it and begged them to "JUST SAY NO!" to toast. Someone will
bring the hairdryer into the bathtub or climb to the top of my cabinets in order to swallow a handful of Tylenol.
If it's going to happen, I am sure it will happen to me. God must have a very wry sense of humor, as I have waited
almost fifteen years since the birth of my first with nary an emergency in sight.
It doesn't take much to get my paranoid tracks a'clicking, so it should come as no surprise that something as simple
as an airbag could set me off.
See you Monday;