I have a few hobbies. The first I like to call laundry, the second involves making dinner and the third has something to do with worrying about what Sam has just picked up off the floor and put into his mouth.
In addition to these thrilling ways to spend my time, I've also ventured into the Art of Paranoia. It's also known as How to Worry About Things that Will Probably Never Happen.
Recently, there have a been a couple things to add to my list of things to be afraid of and I'm doing a sensational job of letting them control my fragile sense of security even as I type this sentence.
Maybe I've mentioned before that I'm afraid of spiders. And roaches. And while mice don't actually scare me, I'll still scream like a little girl if I cross paths with one. Matt didn't know the extent of my ridiculousness when it comes to spiders on that fateful day he asked me to be his wife. However, he learned pretty early on that ear-piercing screams (that's a small exaggeration) coming from any room of the house usually (i.e. always) means there's a spider (or it's evil counterpart, the roach). For the most part, he's patient with me, but on occasion I infer that these outbursts of mine regarding arachnids sort of get on his nerves. Not long into our marriage, he also discovered just exactly where I got this particular annoying behavior. It is, apparently, a part of my genetic code, passed directly down from my lovely, southern mama. Conveniently, Matt has my father to commiserate with on this subject, because he's about as big a fan as Matt is of wives' hysteria over small, eight-legged creatures.
Now that you've heard the backstory, I'll share with you my most recent, and perhaps most terrible, experience regarding things with too many legs. (I just emotionally shivered as I typed that). While perusing my vast and enviable wardrobe (i.e. jeans from 2004, a gray pantsuit, and a number of blouses from Target) the other afternoon, I noticed something that looked strangely unlike the normal things one might expect to see in one's closet. I moved in for a closer look and was immediately paralyzed by the sight of a SCORPION chilling on the "Thanks for Your Business" part of a dry cleaning hanger. I eeked out a distress call to Matt, which he mentally noted as sounding slightly more alarming than the normal spider situation. Quick to the rescue, he shooed me out of the room and took care of business. A few days later I noticed him describing to a friend just how big that scorpion was. He'd failed to mention that it was TWO (freaking) INCHES LONG. I have since determined that I may not ever recover from this. Ever.
Just to clarify, we haven't had a burglar. Yet. But, some friends down the road had one yesterday who pilfered their jewelry, their camera and their silver platters. So, today I've been checking and rechecking and checking some more all the locks and deadbolts in our house. Any little sound outside finds me rushing to the window to confirm whether or not the boogeyman has arrived or, in fact, a chipmunk has just deposited a nut onto our porch. Needless to say, I'm a little jumpy. Luckily, I have a few remedies for this kind of nervousness and they involve baking cookies, watching Shaun the Sheep (with Sam, of course) and generous spoonfuls of Nutella.
So, I'm surviving this somewhat stressful day.
But, just barely.
Here's a couple of things that are helping me survive:
Don't worry because I am with you, don't be afraid because I am your God; I will make you strong and will help you. ~Isaiah 41:10