Wednesday, December 17, 2008

I have a confession...

I ... I am a worrier. Not in that endearing sort of way, in that will-panic-over-the-slightest-thing sort of way.

Exhibit A:

Being a displaced Southerner in the Midwest, the whole concept of ANYONE driving in snow SCARES THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME. I think of it as while all these nebraskans experiencing snow all their life at twenty plus in snow years, me? I am two.

So when my boyfriend DOES NOT TEXT ME BACK FOR HOURS after he's been all the way out in bfe hunting and DRIVING BACK in SNOW, I start to get a little worried.

So I check the department of transportation website and every local news source for any word of some sort of tragic accident involving a red pick-up, because if he's not texting me back he must have veered into a ditch and must be DEAD, it could not possibly be that he's a MAN and doesn't always have the best communication skills.

This happened a few days ago, and now he's DOING IT AGAIN. With full knowledge of what my reaction was last time. If he's not dead, he will be.


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