What I Worry About

What do I worry about? What don’t I worry about would be a shorter answer – nothing. I used to get the shits about my dad worrying about everything. while I was out with my friends he would stay up to the wee hours of the night until I was home, safe in my bed. This meant that I would always be caught cutting curfew. “Why can’t you just CHILL OUT, Dad?!” was my favourite saying. But now that I’m older (and way wiser) I totally get where he was coming from.

Every Morning I tell Adam to drive safely. I catch myself saying “it’s the other drivers you need to worry about”. What! If you’ve ever been with me in my teenage years attempting to leave my house, you would have heard those exact same words coming out of my dad’s mouth; Directly following with “remember the 3 things…” (don’t ask).

Mostly I worry about the health and safety of my friends and family, my skin, my weight, and my wardrobe – in that order.

When serena Williams had a pulmonary aneurism from flying earlier this year I called my mom & told her to make sure dad reads up on prevention & symptoms.

I wasn’t the most cautious in my younger years, so when I had a skin cancer scare, it shouldn’t have been a shocker. Now, every dot and every dimple is that nasty C word.

Adam insists that I am a mild hypochondriac. I disagree. However, while I don’t claim to come down with every medical problem in the book, if I have the symptoms, I’ll research day & night until I can rule it out. It’s science. I’m still convinced that I have RLS, or restless leg syndrome.

My weight has been an issue almost since day dot. Find me a girl who isn’t concerned with her weight or body shape and I’ll show you a liar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m comfortable in my own skin, but I would also love to slip into a pair of skinny jeans and not slightly cringe. It’s a constant struggle that I’ll always worry about (until I can fit into those jeans again).

My wardrobe. In my opinion, it’s a gal’s perogative if she wants to have 16 versions of the lbd or 5 green shirts (in different shades…duh!). More often than not, while getting dressed I pray that I’ll turn around and the perfect shoe will magically appear in the corner. When new trends come out, I stress about how to get it & how I’ll possibly be able to afford it (with no income and all).

Oh yeah – MONEY! I forgot about money woes. Who the heck doesn’t worry about money, especially us married folk. I want new shoes & he wants to see a band. I want a bag & he wants drinks with the boys. Along with worrying I’ll have nothing to wear, I worry about how to afford the new items that ill just die without!

Now that I’m married, I can’t call mom & dad if I’m one dress short of my rent this month. So I’m left worrying about my compulsive shopping habit, which much like a chocolate binge, causes a heart-pumping shot of euphoria, but leaves me sobbing in the corner with regret (a bottle of wine & the confessions of a shopahic DVD).

As my friends & family will attest, I still enjoy my life. I don’t let worry stop me from doing things, nor does it cloud my head. While i will never worry as much as my dad, I can now empathise with him. I now know what it’s like to worry about someone when they’re out all night or drive long distances when tired. I can only wonder if it’ll get better or worse as I get older.