'Fraidy Cat

I pretend to be brave but I'm not. Little things can send me over the edge. Before my mother and I went to the fair, there was a bird in my garage. Remember, I hate birds. He was confused and trying to fly out the window so that resulted in bashing his head and flopping. I had a broom but every time I got close to him, I squealed and ran. Thankfully, my mother showed up and batted him out.

We spotted a mouse in the house. (We live in a wooded area and the oldies tend to leave doors open.) Everyone was very nonchalant about traps, sticky stuff, etc. I kept my feet off the floor and called houseboy.

About a year and a half ago, the oldies had a double fall. They collided, which resulted in him face down in the kitchen and her with a massive head wound after hitting the corner of the piano. The husband was in bed. I ran in our bedroom and yelled, "911! Both oldies down!"

With surgeries or even routine tests, I become a maniac. It's a little embarrassing because most of my doctors are also my friends. I had a biopsy a few months ago -- it was fine -- and I finally asked the doctor to put a towel over my head. She laughed and complied. Of course, my mother was sitting in the waiting room.

The husband bails me out of trouble on a regular basis. He knows my quirks and humors me.

When I'm really a 'fraidy cat, I call my dad.