I am not a fearful person. Not courageous either, really, just not one to limit activities based on what might happen. Or wasn’t, anyway. Tell me you didn’t see that coming.
There has, all my adult life, been a safety net. Himself and I, being a pair, were each other’s backup plans. If one of us went out of town, the other one was generally here in the event of someone getting sick or injured. If one got a flat tire, the other one was close enough to rescue. If one was sick, the other was around to fetch chicken soup and a warm blanket. We relied on each other and it wasn’t necessary to rely on the kindness of others.
I was able to go out and drive extra fast and probably recklessly, when irritated or feeling frisky, comfortable in the knowledge that if I wiped out and died a dramatic Steve McQueenesque death, someone was there to tend to the boys. Of course, I didn’t tell Himself that I thought this way, as he was a careful sort and would have bee horrified. Tho I suspect he already knew and was indulgent enough to turn a blind eye.
now though…notsomuch. #4 is spending the evening and into the night with a group of men at the church, smoking some 100+ boston butts for a sale. On the way home, I thought it was a nice cool evening and wouldn’t it be fun to go out and haul-ass on the back roads. Only, I think the Ghost Of Himself pinched the back of my arm and reminded me that he, Himself, was no longer a corporeal being who could fill in should I become a grease spot. Disappointment ensued as it sunk in that it is unlikely I will ever go out again and drive like a 17 yr old hooligan in his uncle’s Chevelle SS. I guess that isn’t really appropriate for a Woman Of A Certain Age anyway.
Then fear sunk in. The Small Voice started listing all the horrible things that could happen if I went more than 5 miles away from home. Savannah drivers are terrible, and I might get in a wreck! Atlanta traffic is so fast, I might get in a wreck! I better not drink that glass of wine/ favored martini/delicious vodka concoction, what if #4 gets hurt somewhere else and I can’t go get him? WHAT IS YOUR BACKUP PLAN??! What if I choke on that bit of bone? Don’t eat that! you might choke! Don’t go upstairs, what if you slip and fall! DON’T PLUG IN THAT APPLIANCE YOU MIGHT GET ELECTROCUTEDDON’TMOVESTANDBENDBRUSHYOURTEETHYOUMIGHT DIE
And that seems silly. Am I supposed to allow fear to control the rest of my life? Are what-might-happens supposed to dictate every single move I make? Am I going to be one of those sad women who cower and shake at the least little sound of something unknown?
I sure hope not. That sounds so boring.
But the thought that there isn’t Himself to call in an emergency, or that I am the only one in the house at night can be daunting. except for Maybelline and the box of hollow points.