The Terrorists
I talked to my parents Sunday afternoon.
They had just returned from a week-long trip to Sonoma Valley, California (their fourth? I think? trip to the California wine country), and were sort of getting settled back at home.
After a few minutes of "How was the trip?" and "When did you get back?" my mom suddenly asked, "Are you okay? I was so worried."
"Um, sure, I'm okay. Why? I've been a little sad this week, but that's it."
"Oh. When I heard about the bombings I thought of you."
"The ones in London?"
"Were you scared?"
"I don't live in London."
"But it was a transit bombing."
"In London. In England. Not Canada. No matter how often I use public transit."
"Yeah, well, I guess it's silly."
"Yeah, no attacks here, Mom. I promise."
I swear my mother is at least a little smarter than that. I guess it just goes to show how freaky all the Southerners are getting lately. . . .
They had just returned from a week-long trip to Sonoma Valley, California (their fourth? I think? trip to the California wine country), and were sort of getting settled back at home.
After a few minutes of "How was the trip?" and "When did you get back?" my mom suddenly asked, "Are you okay? I was so worried."
"Um, sure, I'm okay. Why? I've been a little sad this week, but that's it."
"Oh. When I heard about the bombings I thought of you."
"The ones in London?"
"Were you scared?"
"I don't live in London."
"But it was a transit bombing."
"In London. In England. Not Canada. No matter how often I use public transit."
"Yeah, well, I guess it's silly."
"Yeah, no attacks here, Mom. I promise."
I swear my mother is at least a little smarter than that. I guess it just goes to show how freaky all the Southerners are getting lately. . . .