Confessions of a wimp

By Dorothy Rosby:

I’ve been wondering lately if I might be a wimp. I’m not asking for your opinion, so don’t write and share it with me. I’ve just been considering the possibility ever since my sister and I compiled the stories our mother used to tell of growing up on the prairies of South Dakota. My mom was born in 1916 which was before online shopping, social media and frozen pizza came along. I think it’s a testament to her lack of wimpiness that she survived.

By the way, I know what you’re doing right now. You’re trying to calculate my age based on when my mother was born. If you guessed 29, you’re correct.

Anyway, after finishing our project, I went directly to my laundry room and hugged my washing machine. Then I went to my kitchen and kissed my microwave, my refrigerator and my dishwasher. I would have kissed my cellphone too, but I couldn’t find it. Then I got really upset and wondered how I could possibly live without it for an entire hour until my husband came home and I could have him call me so I could find it. That’s when I started to wonder if I might be a wimp.

For the rest of Dorothy’s entertaining column, pick up a copy of the Messenger today!