Weird worries - you or someone else...

Back when I was in high school, I’d use that code thing to let my parents know I needed a ride home from school (I was an equipment manager of the football team, and after a game on Friday night I rarely felt like walking home). The number on the pay phone was written on whiteboard in the kitchen, and this let me avoid spending a dime.

My wife has some legitimate anxiety issues but she worries about some crazy things and though these things do happen, the statistical likelihood of them happening to us is incredibly remote. She keeps herself up at night worrying about Islamic Terrorists, the kids being kidnapped from our fenced-in backyard, even though we live in a very crime-free area. We don’t take the kids to the lake because she worries about the brain-eating amoebas.

Whenever she reads or hears about anything bad happening anywhere in Australia, or New Zealand for that matter, my (American) MIL emails or calls to make sure none of my friends or family were affected.

Got a pregnant friend who doesn’t worry about rational things. Only things like the Yakuza sneaking into her house at night, alien spaceships gliding down silently, Euro soccer hooligans (coming to Wisconsin en masse, apparently), or the Taliban kidnapping the baby…
… that she hasn’t given birth to yet.

Terrorists. According to my wife’s mom, we are all going to be killed by terrorists. Probably later today, or tomorrow at the latest.

My mother is a high-level worrier.

After my recent operation, she would call me from Spain every - single - day (for those who don’t know it, I am a Spaniard living in the Netherlands). The calls began the moment I was out of the operating table and completely off my gourd on opiates.

And every single day I just told her “everything is going well, I am feeling fine, the operation was successful.”

Finally I found out why she was calling me every day. She had convinced herself that I was about to die, not long for this world, circling the drain and getting ready to kick the bucket, and that everybody telling her that I was OK, that the operation had gone well and that everything was going as it should was lying to her (me included) to hide the horrible truth from her.

So she basically was calling me every day to make sure I was still alive.

:smack:

I can top that. I was living in Switzerland during the 6 day war (1967) and my mother phoned to find out if we were safe. Well Switzerland is closer to Israel than Philadelphia is, isn’t it? And this was in the days that transatlantic calls were EX-PEN-SIVE.