Scared

Nothing can scare me anymore. I've been through so much. Old age doesn't frighten me. Death and I have a daily conversation. I don't stress over deteriorating body parts and the future I do not even think about. I am Teflon.
Well, not completely. Trick or treaters make me anxious. What if my treats don't measure up? Not everyone lusts over chocolate and licorice. If just one disgruntled kid is standing there in his Hulk costume I'll simply shrug and slam the door. But if its a gang of hooligans that reject my treat, will there be violence?
Will they leap upon me and duct tape my mouth and use clothesline they carry for such purposes? Will they tattoo me against my will--large, ferocious animals across my stomach?
Will they steal my hand puppets?
I need to get hold of myself and consider options. Leave the lights and TV off all night.
Other than this little possibility, nothing scares me.

Gracefully Afraid

If a man is alone and sees a snake, he can scream and fold into a shivering fetal position. But if he is among other men he must stare down the reptile. Look around for a rock or stick and attack.
If a man is with a woman and a snake appears, grace must subjugate fear. First, he must clap a hand over the screaming woman's mouth. Then he should consider what Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly would do. Crack a joke, dance around the snake, sing on key.
I have conquered most of my fears--Ferris wheels, clowns, hot coffee, strange stains, lady bugs. That strange pattern on their shells connotes something evil.
So I gracefully deal with normal everyday fears, which leaves death.
I am more afraid of being left in the morgue unclaimed. Why? Because if I descend into dementia I know friends will abandon me. Before that happens I'll remind them ghosts exist and I will haunt them unless they spring for a respectful burial.
If I lose my mind, I'm sure I will do so gracefully.

Fear of Needles

You are not going to believe this, doc, but the last time I got a flu shot, strange things happened. I began speaking and walking like Alfred Hitchcock, waddling along, head up, eyes half closed. I went into the street in a fugue state. About five minutes later I became Rudy Guliani, slapping pedestrians for walking too close to the curb or ticketing people for missing spots as they swept the sidewalk.
I tried to make a citizen's arrest on a man who refused to clean up after his puppy. He smacked me, I pulled out a penknife and went on the attack. His dog ran off into traffic. The arm where I got the needle began to swell up and I imagined myself a mid-sized dirigible releasing air and plummeting to earth. The dog caused a bicycle messenger to lose balance and fly over the bars.
I passed out and woke up in emergency. My disfigured arm was seriously swollen and throbbing. Suddenly a tiny two headed creature burst from my biceps and squealed. Attendants rushed in and cornered it, but not before three were bitten and needed rabies shots. My bill was $21,000 and my arm still hursts.
I don't care if my mom is in the waiting room. I can't take another flu shot.