I’m a moth magnet

I’m sitting in my living room writing by the backlight of my computer, listening to Edith Piaf on auto loop for almost an hour.  The music has driven all other humans from the room, leaving just me and the dogs. In my peripheral vision, I see a moth the size of a pigeon bashing himself against my French doors as if he knows just a few more good hits will spring the doors open.  He has done this for several nights in a row, so I know he’s not giving up.  All I can think about is keeping that door closed.  I check the lock a few times just to be sure.  And seriously, the dogs had better not have to go out because I’m not opening the door and letting the giant moth in to suck the life out of me and turn me into another giant moth.  I saw this happen in a movie when I was eight, and it’s never quite left me. 

I think I’m a magnet for these things—giant bugs in the night, weird strangers in the mall, the occasional creeper online.

You would think at my age I would know better…that I would recognize the power of the flirt.

I never do.  My family tells me it’s my own fault.  I engage people in conversation in the line at the grocery store. The bank.  Or the DMV.  And apparently, you should never engage someone in conversation while in line at the DMV.  They might be there reinstating their license after years of having it revoked for vehicular manslaughter while driving under the influence of some horrible, psychotic substance…they might still be taking it and when you walk back to your car an hour or two later, they’ll be waiting in the backseat! 

I always think I’m just being nice, when in fact it would seem I am simply inviting the masses to imagine me in my underwear.  And trust me, I don’t think my husband imagines me in my underwear…they’re usually inside out. 

That’s just how I roll.

So in an attempt to protect myself from the dangers of the outside world, I go to Twitter.  And here I am, hanging out in the world’s biggest virtual coffee shop…no coffee in hand…talking to writers, and making friends and connections.  I’m having fun, learning new things, and maybe being a little flirty.  Not the bad kind of flirty.  And there is a difference.  I’ve spent hours explaining that difference to my husband over the course of several years.  Sometimes flirty is just friendly.  I’m a friendly flirt.  I mean no harm.  Honest.  But one day, while I’m making my writery connections and new friendships, I meet someone who decides the connection I was making was a love connection.  Eek!  Could this possibly happen to anyone but me? Am I just a magnet for moths and psychos, and online creepers?  What do I do?

I’ll tell you what I do…I run away.  Just like at the DMV.  I lock my Twitter doors up tight and I go to bed, tucking myself tightly under the covers.  So what if it’s four hundred degrees outside and my blankets are filled with fluffy down which basically turns me into a roasted duck?  I stay hidden under the covers until morning.  And when I get up and groggily check my Twitter command center I see no creepy stalkers there.  I see nothing but fun and friendship…writers and agents…and people I like.  So maybe I overreacted, or maybe it was all just a dream caused by a scary moth bashing at my French doors.

My husband says I might just be crazy…but for now, I’ll take my chances.  It’s going to take more than one giant moth to chase off Twitter girl. 

Besides…I have a WIP.

Until the next time…I’ll be fending off creepers and moths alike!