Yesterday I had a revelation that I’m scared shitless of the car repair shop – mainly because I’m so inept when it comes to mechanics, it’s like being teleported to a different planet. I had this revelation as I was standing in a shop, 8 inches from a mechanic named Randy. Randy was, as most mechanics are, rough around the edges but very interesting otherwise, he had a tan like he wintered in Florida, a very strong (thick and golden) tupée game, a serious sense of humor and an extremely quick sarcasm reflex. He gave me so much shit within my first two minutes in the building that I could, swear to Jesus, feel sweat rolling down my leg (I was wearing a dress) and I couldn’t wipe my sweatstache off fast enough. I was so concerned with trying not to lose my bananas that I forgot I was there for the second time in a week with a concern about their handy work.

Kudos, Randy.

But today it has me thinking about all the stupid shit I’m scared of. Towel snapping (like, to death afraid), being chased, snowballs scare the shit out of me, my toddler between the hours of 8pm and 5am, TICKLING (knock on wood) and anything that feels or seem super natural-y. If I had to list my top 3 worst ways to die, it’d be 1) being tickled to death 2) being snowballed to death 3) being towel snapped to death.

What are yours? I’D HONESTLY LOVE TO KNOW.

Anyway, it’s Friday and it just hit me that it’s my night to put Matty to bed. I needed a margarita before and now I need at least four. Weekends will never again be what they once were – but I’ll take it – as long as there are marg and ritas.

Have a great weekend!