On Personal Safety

If somebody asked me to fill out a survey answering how safe of a person I was, I would rate myself an 8.5 out of 10. People don’t get hurt around me, I’ve never broken any bones, and generally err on the side of caution when it comes to EXTREME sports (in caps because of the extremity of it all). I also take a lot of naps – as it turns out, I’m a very safe person to be around when I’m unconscious.

This safety rating drops to about 5.4 with some slight on-the-road agitation, such as perhaps being cut off. The rating further drops when two cars are driving side-by-side, taking up the only available lanes, competing to see who can drive exactly 10mph under the speed limit for the longest amount of time. After a few consecutive run-ins with people who should be in those Worst Drivers specials that used to be on Fox, I am hit by a personal transition that can only be described as “hulk-like,” as I begin screaming weird obscenities (ie MOTHERBITCH!, You ball-licker!, Why I oughta…), glaring so very angrily as I pass violators of my driving code, and shaking my fist at those I dislike. That being said, I haven’t been in an accident that was my fault in many years, and that was just a “ding” that broke the other guy’s tail light. Near-misses, though – well, I don’t even want to start counting those.

Now, home safety is another issue. I’m of the school of thought that “duh, it’ll never happen to me.” Fortunately, it’s worked out for me so far (knocking so hard on wood right now). However, I know that one day, I’ll have to deal with something. Somebody will threaten me. And that’s why I often take inventory of things I can use to bash a bad guy with. Currently: office – hammer on the bookshelf. Entryway – machete in the laundry room above the washer (don’t judge me, I know it’s weird). Kitchen – a variety of good knives, although maybe I shouldn’t use my good knives bc I wouldn’t want to drop it and chip the tip (my lime squeezer is pretty solid for a bashing, too). I’ve thought about taking a class like Krav Maga where I can learn to knee an intruder’s face in reps of 8, but my motivation is just not there. I’ll stick with looking for bashing utensils every chance I get.

So, to wrap up, San Antonio needs to be aware that I am not one to be trifled with. The red Honda with the girl in it singing at the top of her lungs? Give it a wide berth. Also, if you come into my house uninvited, you’re gonna get bashed.

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