Paranoia and Cheap Cologne

I have this secret fear I don’t really like to talk about. I don’t like driving my car alone when it’s dark because I fairly certain that some evil mobster is hiding in the back seat to slash my throat or strangle me or whatever. I blame it on an active imagination and lots of movies.

Ever notice how bad guys hide behind the seat and then the hero is toast? Yeah. Me too. I’m not claiming to be any kind of hero…or heroine…do we still call girl heroes heroines or has it gone gender neutral? I’m hoping for neutral. I don’t like calling myself an addictive drug. Where was I? 

Right. Scary guys in the back seat and overpasses. Those are my two unreasonable phobias. And maybe flying. But truly scary back seat hiders and overpasses.

I’m not like crazy that the back seat hiders are really there, but when it’s dark and I have to go somewhere…you can’t be too careful. I turn on the inside the car lights and walk around it once looking in. (It’s like people who are afraid of spiders shaking out their shoes. Just bigger.) I’m not sure what I would do if someone were in the car because I haven’t ever really had to confront that yet.  But I always look. If I get the real heebie-jeebies then I call someone. Trust me when I tell you that I know the people I can call late at night without ticking them off.

Calling people is my safety plan. They’re witnesses of a sort, plus good luck getting that garrote over my neck with my arm in the way! Bet the bad guys never thought of the old arm just being in the eay. What now, back seat hiding creepy guys?

It was a fool proof awesome plan – walk around the car looking for hiders and then be on the phone with a protective wrist ready to save me.  Until this morning.

This morning as I pulled out of the driveway, the stench of cheap cologne wafted in my direction.The kind mobsters wear in my mind. I slammed on the breaks, got out and walked around the car again. No one. I got back in. By the end of the street, I could definitely smell some back seat sneaky hider cologne. 

“Hey,” I told the hider. “I’m not in the mood for garotting today. Let me get a workout and I’ll make you a nice breakfast instead. ‘Kay?”

He didn’t answer. He was a crafty one. But I could smell him.

My heart was pounding in my ears by the time I got home from the gym. I could smell him more then ever. This was it, and it was too early to call anyone. Because you can call people late, but you can’t call them at 6am. By the time I got home I sprinted into the house. Ready to be a tiny smudge furer away from certain death.

“In the car..” I started to say to my husband. “the smell..”

“Yeah? Did you like it? I put in some air freshener. Your car was rank. It was guy cologne or pine, so I picked cologne. Its nice, huh?”

“Yeah. For future reference, I like that funk of teenage boy, old shoes, and half eaten French fries. That cologne stuff smells like death. Why are you giving the mobsters a cover smell?”

He smiled a quirky half smile before shaking his head. “What are you talking about? There are no mobsters in your car. You’re so weird,” said the love of my life.

He could be right about the back seat hiders, but those overpasses…those things are DEATH looking for a place to happen.