46, that's what.
Because that is seriously close to. . .
Hmmm. . .
That actually looks kinda pretty.
Ok, I changed my mind. I'm not afraid of 46. After all, it's just another number.
So, here's what I'm really afraid of:
I mean, with their brainless suction and long freaky tentacles wrapping around my legs and arms as I swim? Seriously, this is Long Island.
We're supposed to have muggers here.
And scary bad hedge fund managers.
But we're not supposed to have things that look like they belong a safe distance off a tropical island somewhere on the coast of where I can't pronounce. So, sue me. But I'm afraid of them.
And, you know what else?
Yep, I'm pretty darned scared of that.
*checks email reluctantly to see if their is news...
(there is NOT).*
But that's not what I'm most afraid of.
I'm most afraid of my children being hurt or worse.
Because, seriously, that scares the bejeezus out of me. And it just happened here yesterday, around the corner from me. A beautiful, quiet, good, 17-yr old girl from our school district who lost control of her car.
So, all you kids out there, listen to your parents and be careful. And remember to take your time. And know when I'm blowing out those candles, I'm making a wish for all of you.
Because, 46? Nope, not scared at all.
And all those candles just mean that many more good wishes.
I've said one for you and your children now.
Now, somebody pass me more cake.
*dedicated to the memory of Nikki K.