It always took at least a half an hour to say goodbye to my Aunt Bonnie. The goodbyes would start on the living room couch, move to the entryway, the screened-in porch, the short brick wall overlooking the backyard, then to the concrete parking pad. “I don’t want you to die of thirst out there!” she’d say. “I have a few bottles of iced tea you can take with you.” “You’ll catch your death of cold; there’s a spare wool cap I found on sale in the closet. Let me get it for you.” After five minutes standing at the car door getting directions to get us to our destination five minutes sooner, we’d back out slowly. Her traditional adieu, “Y’all be careful!” followed us down the driveway.
“Y’all be careful!” must run in the family. My kids sometimes poke fun at me for being an overly dramatic worrywart. They claim my favorite phrase is, “…and then you’ll die!” As in, “If you don’t wash your hands for dinner, then you’ll get sick…” I regularly remind my son as he leaves for school on his bike that his superpower is invisibility (because drivers never see cyclists), and that parking lots are always the most dangerous place on the road. If my spouse is next to me, we wave and call out like Miracle Max in The Princess Bride, “Have fun storming the castle!” “Think it’ll work?” “It would take a miracle.” “Buh-bye!”
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