I have always been a bit of a worrier. I try not to be but somehow I just can’t get a handle on some things.
Since going through recent traumatic events, I’ve become even more anxious about some minor stuff as well as the big stuff, and am trying even harder to get a handle on it… with some success, I have to add. But, herein lies a cautionary tale for all women (and indeed men, but you’ll see why particularly women) who are prone to, perhaps, being overly anxious and overreacting to an otherwise mildly stressful situation…
On Friday after school, my son, Patrick, asked if he could go to the barbers, Araz’s, on the crescent at St Anne’s (great barbershop). It was a bit chilly, but sunny, and off we went together on our bikes a mile or so down the road.
As we parked our bikes and began locking them up, two rather drowsy looking wasps hovered near us. Usually I’m calm with these creatures, knowing that the worst thing to do is to make them angry by swatting them away. So…gripped by fear, I started to make them angry by swatting them away. Hoping to protect my unflustered child from being stung, I sent Patrick into the barbers and regained my composure – until I heard a buzzing in my bicycle helmet, still on my head at this point, at which moment I screamed as loud as I could and panicked!
In my panic, I tried to take my fleecy top off, still wearing my bike helmet, and then had then to deal with the farcical fallout from that. As I threw my helmet and fleece down on the pavement, I swore loudly, danced around a bit more and screeched as I felt two sharp stings just underneath my T-shirt at the back of my neck. A very kind, elderly lady stopped and put her little shopper bag on the floor. ‘Are you alright, dear?’ As I pulled my T-shirt off over my head to reveal a bright red bra (my biggest sister told me a red one is as good as a nude bra, if not better, for not showing through girls!) she looked rather astonished, whilst I tried to explain in gasps and shrieks that I had a wasp, maybe two, down the back of my T-shirt.
So, there I stood in my cycling shorts, trainers and red bra, on a busy St Anne’s crescent, whilst the lovely lady peered at my back and soothed my nerves with ‘ooh dears’ and ‘ahhs’. Thankfully, Araz’s huge glass window was two doors away, and my son, along with about 8 other young lads, although he heard some yelps and shrieks, managed to avoid the spectacle of his mum ‘dancing’ on the pavement in her red bra
So, my cautions are these; firstly, if you’ve had something happen in your life which has left you more predisposed to anxiety and fear, try to remain calm and rational when faced with something that, before all that happened to you, you would have seen as mild threat (verbalising it is good, to yourself…Ok, here are two wasps, my son is right, everything will be ok as long as you don’t swat them and make them angry); secondly, listen to the voices of reason that might be around you (in this case, my son. Thank you Patrick x); and thirdly, if you’re going to reveal yourself down to your underwear on a busy main thoroughfare, at least make sure you’re wearing a lovely lacy, red bra, instead of the rather ordinary (albeit red) one, resembling a piece of scaffolding, that I was wearing!