Worry wart frets when her bestie survives car wreck without her
My best friend could have been killed last weekend and I was busy worrying about something else.
That’s how it goes, you know. Even if you worry for a hobby like I do, it’s what you forget to worry about that sneaks up out of nowhere and blows you away.
Such was the case last weekend, when an SUV driven by a college kid turned in front of Lydia, who was cruising along at 40 miles an hour. Lyd’s vehicle was totaled. The kid’s vehicle was totaled. And yet, miraculously, both drivers were unharmed.
Did I mention I was worrying about something else at the time? But that’s OK because the thing I forgot to worry about turned out great.
“C’mon, how can you say it turned out great, Shell?” Lydia asked me, recently. “My car was totaled and the kid who hit me doesn’t have enough insurance to cover the damages.”
“But you’re both alive!” I said.
“That’s all you’ve got for me?” she asked.
“If you had died, I don’t know what I’d do,” I said, softly.
Well, that shut her up.
Since high school, Lydia and I have served as each other’s unofficial therapists. If one of us were to die, the other one would be in deep doo-doo. It would take years to get a mental health professional up to snuff on either of our thought processes. Plus real therapists are expensive. So there’s that.
But back to the worrying.
My mother was a worrier, as was her mother before her. The condition is hereditary and includes hand-wringing, binge eating and the occasional nightmare. After Lydia’s wreck, I started worrying that all my worrying is for naught. I mean, my BFF walked away from a serious car accident that wasn’t even on my worrying radar.
Also, didn’t I forget to worry about that frozen Dove bar that broke my jaw tooth last spring? My dentist, the amazing Dr. Mike, repaired the damage just fine.
“Do you think all my worrying is for nothing?” I asked Lydia.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Well, I think maybe all my normal, everyday worrying had you covered,” I said. “It spilled out into the universe like a big, cosmic worry blanket.”
“Or a big bucket of ‘worry water’ that had a rippling effect,” she mused.
“Or a worry wart that could only be excised by ‘Dr. Pimple Popper!’” I said and laughed.
“Yes, that’s it!” Lydia agreed. “You should audition for the show.”
My best friend gets me. I’d worry if she didn’t.
