I’m Fight, He’s Flight. Part I.

They say there are two kinds of people: those who fight and those who flee. 

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When it comes to the fight or flight response, I am most definitely a fighter.  If you need proof, just ask my mom who had to weather my teen years.  (Seriously, Mom, I’m sorry.  I really am.) .

My husband, B, who is my counterpoint in every way, is not a fighter.  This is good for our marriage because I don’t think a healthy relationship can handle two of me.  I learned that B is a natural ‘flee-er’ (itsawordbecauseIsayitis) on one fateful fall day the fall when we were newly dating.

B with more hair and me with less weight.  Good times.
Somehow, I got coaxed into going to a haunted house just outside of DC.  There are few things I hate more than being afraid but my new boyfriend wanted to go, all of my girls from college and their boyfriends were going, so I went along.  (First mistake)
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We got to the haunted house and B told me I could keep a hand on his shoulder and another one over my eyes.  The plan was that he would walk me through the haunted house without me actually having to see anything.  (Second mistake)
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I’d always been told that people in haunted houses weren’t allowed to touch you.  I’m here to tell you that this is not the case in every haunted house and I was very concerned that the drunken college kids running the haunted house did not have the “no touching the scaredy cats” clause written into their contract.  So I took it upon myself to broadcast my no touching policy.
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I know you can picture it with me…B walking in front of me with my hand on his shoulder.  My other hand covering my eyes, while I yell to the drunken mummies and monsters, “DO NOT TOUCH ME!  YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH ME!
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What can I say?  Being cool has always come easily to me.  Don’t be jealous.
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I knew we were coming to the end of the haunted house because the lights were on and I could feel the cold air ahead of me.  I also knew better than to remove my hands from my eyes until we were completely out of the haunted house.  (Third mistake)
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The following five seconds happened in slow motion.  All I remember is the sound of a chain saw revving to life about two feet from my ear.  I clutched my hands even tighter over my eyes and grabbed tighter on to B’s shoulder.  Except there was no shoulder.  I moved my hand around wildly trying to find B while avoiding the chain saw.
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What I found was a boyfriend-shaped poof of smoke where B had once stood.  I squinted my eyes open to find a trail of dust from where I was to where B continued to run (about 50 yards ahead of me).  I believe it was at this moment that I realized B did not have the ‘fight’ response.
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Instead of running, I was frozen.  I turned to my right to see Leather Face, of “Chainsaw Massacre” fame, looking at me with a rather perplexed expression.
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He lifted his mask just a smidge
and whispered, “You’re supposed to run.”

 

And I did.
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Tomorrow in Part II, we’ll explore the fight response and you’ll learn that I’m secretly a Viking. 

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