Catnip for Crazies

I have come to the inevitable conclusion that I attract crazy.  I send out a signal like a homing beacon and draw it to me.

A few weeks back I was couch shopping, this woman sat down next to me on the sofa I was seriously considering.  I was just waiting for the saleslady to bring me the total purchase price including delivery when the voice next to me said “Do you see the guy I’m with?  I know everybody thinks he’s my first husband, but he’s not.  He’s my second.  He’s the twin brother of my first husband which is what confuses people.” She went on to regale me with the tale of how she’s unsure which brother is the father of her 10 year old son, but could I please not tell her husband that?  The new one or the old one, please….although she’s not sure where the first one is as he went to Mexico 10 years ago and never came back………and it got weirder and I just kept hoping for the saleslady to return so I could leave.

They find me, the crazy people…we’re weirdly drawn to each other. Everywhere I go, I get the waitress who decides to share the intimate secrets of that thing she did last week that she didn’t even tell her best friend...in explicit detail, or the man who was abducted by aliens on Tuesday and tells me the tale as we’re standing in the grocery checkout line (btw, eyeball probes do not sound fun).  I encounter the person who drank poison and lived to tell about it, and the woman who swore to me that she’s a psychic and I’m the reincarnation of some French Jewish woman she knew in WWII and the birthmark on my head is exactly where her friend was shot.  (fabulous.)

I’m not sure why the crazies come to me.  I try to avoid eye contact with anyone even slightly strange lest I hear more about their one night stand with the ghost of Elvis than I ever wanted to know.  It doesn’t matter.  They tap my shoulder to get my attention and then launch right into it, and my mama raised me with too many manners to just rudely walk away no matter how bizarre it gets.

My husband read some post apocalyptic novel a few months back and mused out loud how unsafe the world would be with unchecked craziness on the loose.  He can worry all he wants, but I know we’ll be just fine.  The crazies love me.  I draw them in like bugs to a porch light and they adore me.  Other people can fret over what ifs, but if that ever happens the loonies will come to me, and I will be their queen.

 

Photo credit: Photo via VisualHunt

About Rebecca Frech

I’m the 40-something-ish wife of my beloved Computer Guy. I’m the adoring and incredibly proud mom of nine children…two saints…seven in training. I’m my brothers’ sister and my parents’ daughter. I’m a devout Catholic, an avid political junkie, able debater, aspiring home-maker, amazing friend, and I make the meanest Chicken Fried Steak you’ll ever have the pleasure of eating. I’m a homeschooling guru, a writing addict, a sometimes public-speaker, and an advocate for staying true to the person God created you to be. I can’t live in a house with white walls, sing Billy Joel songs while I wash the dishes, will read anything you put in my hands, and am completely obsessed with rhinestones and cute shoes. I am just like moms the whole world over, and then some.
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