Remember my big girl panties? Gotta put them on Saturday morning. I’m flying to Florida to spend Thanksgiving on the beach with Rocket Man. Most of the time, I think I’m BIG… but I’m not so big about flying. Don’t like it. Never have. Probably never will. If, however, I want to get away and have some time alone at the beach with my best guy and enjoy a picnic on the beach in lieu of Thanksgiving Dinner…I’m going to have to go get in that aircraft, strap myself in, give up all control over myself and my environment and fly away!
I really do think I’m big most of the time. In truth, I am not even 5 feet tall. At my zenith, before gravity began to take its evil toll on my height, I was roughly 4 feet, 11 and one half inches tall. I clung to that half inch, let me tell ya! Proud of that half inch. I’m afraid it has gone with the wind. I’m not quite sure exactly how tall I am (or am not) and I’m quite content in not knowing.
Anyway…my children always say that I grew to be about 7 feet tall when I was angry. You mess with me, and I’m not nearly so cute and perky. Several years ago, I had a very bad day. I’m talking bad like an Old Testament butt-whipping bad day. I was about 8 weeks into wedded bliss with Rocket Man, we were trying to blend a family that included 3 teenage daughters and one grandson. Our house was not nearly big enough and I’m not sure that 7 bathrooms would have been sufficient. My stepdaughters were not taking well to having an evil, wicked stepmother in the house full time. My ex-husband was being a stinker about all sorts of things and I was just about at the end of my rope. Oh, and Rocket Man’s Grandmother had died and we were driving to Macon, Georgia that evening. Ma’s death was the third death of a family member in the first 8 weeks of our marriage.
I was exasperated! I had gone to the Court House (with ex-stinker stuff) and was stomping my size 5 ½ feet back to the parking garage. I had my keys in my hand. I carried on my key ring a rather sharp knife. Just seemed like the prudent thing to do. My ex-stinker was a military man and he had shown me how to use the knife if I were to ever need to protect myself. As I stomped my way back to the garage, a huge, rattle-trap, beat-up Lincoln Town Car pulled in front of me as I crossed the entrance to a parking lot. There were some unsavory characters hanging out of the windows and they said some really, really ugly things to me.
I’m talking UGLY. Nasty things. (I had to ask later what some of it meant!) Those boys had no idea with whom they were dealing. I might look short and cute and perky…but I am a legend in my own mind and I think I’m BIG! I stood as tall as I could, flipped my knife open, narrowed my eyes and said very deliberately (so as to avoid confusion about what I meant), “If you come near me I will cut out your hearts and eat them for supper.” Their attitude changed in a big hurry. They laughed nervously and said, “Hey, lady. We was just funnin’ wi’cha. You can put the knife away.” The behemoth of a car was thrown into reverse and they high-tailed it down the street. I must have looked crazed, because they acted scared to death!
As I stomped up the deserted stairs into the deserted parking garage, I did think that perhaps I had acted in haste. Those boys were probably on the other side of that door and would probably kill me with my own knife. Let them try! Knife in hand, I opened the door and proceeded to stomp to my car and head to the house.
Much later that evening, we were between Atlanta and Macon and I told Rocket Man what had happened. He looked at me in horror and simply put his hand out. I knew he was taking my knife away from me. I took it off my key ring and listened to the very stern but very loving rant that he felt obliged to give me. “How many of them were there? Did I know I could have been hurt? What was I thinking?” Well, I was thinking, “I’ve had enough and you better get out of my way!” That’s what I was thinking! Poor, poor Molli. My knife was gone. How was I supposed to be big without my knife?
About 4 years later, when I graduated from college, Rocket Man gave me a wonderful gift. It was wrapped up all pretty. It was the cutest Kershaw Scallion knife to go on my key ring. It is colored like a rainbow…even the blade. He keeps it sharp for me. When it is unlocked, I can snap my wrist and it pops opens. I think they call that automatic. Did I mention it was sharp? He has shown me (even though I already knew) how to stab someone in their liver, twist and pull it out. It is really sharp. But, oh! so! cute! He could shave with it, it is so sharp. Anybody who messes with me will probably laugh as I attempt to stop them in their tracks. Somebody may kill me with my own knife, but you need to know this: I will die having at least tried to stab them in the liver. You see, I think I’m big. Especially with my very sharp knife.
Except when I can't take my very sharp knife and have to get on an airplane, strap myself in and give over total control of myself and my environment to a pilot whom I don’t know. I’m not so big then.