Emergency

I told my cousin she needs to start a new magazine: The Alarmist's Monthly.

She has some harrowing story or statistic on just about everything. I'm surprised her family ever gets to have any fun at all (which, by the way, the do. On an incredibly regular basis. These are the kids that, when they're my age, are going to tell their kids what a great childhood they had.)

I definitely felt myself slightly more paranoid by the time I had left her house. After all, the first week I was there I learned that when she uttered "Should I tell you?" I should probably run far, run fast. Like when Walker found the mini-trampoline on the deck next to the big kid slide. He could barely make the thing bounce (not that he didn't master it in record time or anything) and she said "Should I tell you?" "What?" "Just as many kids are taken to the emergency room because of the little ones as are because of the big ones." No, you probably shouldn't have told me.

I was attempting to use her (still on dial-up but I'm working on her, kids, I promise) computer when the obligatory mid-west, lightening-filled, thunder storm began. Of course, by the time she was finished with me, not only was I afraid to use the computer, but afraid to take a shower or stand by the windows.

And did you know that the number one cause of dryer fires is NOT overflowing lint traps (they might be contributers to the number one) but clothes left in front of the dryer. To be honest, I guess I didn't even realize there WAS a pilot light in the damn thing. Which is why I'm so good at home repair and common sense.

And there's a following of people like her. They all share these alarmist emails and snippets in newsletters and at coffee hour after Sunday School. She could probably make a killing (but maybe that's too alarming a thing to say to alarmists) as editor in chief.

But should I tell you that?