I don't consider myself a chicken.
A lot of things that scare people don't scare me particularly.
Bugs? Eh. I'm the resident squisher here.
Snakes? Just ask J-bear which stepmother begged to be able to watch her feed the slithery thing. (Yes, it eats "pinkies." Yes, I took pictures. And no, I won't share. You're welcome.)
Scary house noises? Pfffft. I spent too many years having to be the one who investigates. No hiding under the covers for this former single mom.
Walking in the dark? Not my fave-rave, but I am capable of going between car and house or house and car at midnight by myself without fearful glances.
Driving in the fog?
On a recent night, when I drove home from my chorus rehearsal, the fog rolled in -- and my sanity rolled out.
I swear I still have the imprint of the steering wheel on my hands, and the thought of it still makes beads of cold sweat drip down my back.
I apologize to those on the freeway with me that night. Those who zipped around me at 55 miles an hour, while I crept along at 40 (at most).
Sorry, people. When it's that impenetrable, I don't travel further than my headlights can illuminate.
The best moment was cresting over the hill and seeing the clouds dissipate ...
... So I could finish the drive in relative peace.
And be a big brave bear once again.
Beware, bugs. I'm a-comin' ...