Not WonderWoman!

Like many of my female friends, I have tried to be proactive about personal safety. I've taken self-defense for women courses and even achieved my yellow belt in karate, the result of my ill-planned scheme to meet men when I was single. I would like to think that my preparations have only fortified my instinct to fight and defend myself. Apparently I was wrong. A few nights ago, I discovered that my response to be scared would be more embarrassing than valiant.

I woke up around 3 AM parched from another afternoon spent swimming in the sun. I laid in bed for a few minutes, debating whether or not I was thirsty enough to put on my leg and amble to the kitchen and back. Only after rationalizing that I would fall asleep faster if my thirst were quenched did I decide that it was worth the effort, and I put on my leg and not so daintily tip-toed to the kitchen.

I thought Scott was still sound asleep when I walked back into the bedroom, but apparently he had woken to use the bathroom. He walked out of the bathroom at the same time I was walking in front of that door. Still groggy and now fully awake, I was surprised when I saw him.

I remember Scott mumbling, "Hello" and looking at me. After standing frozen and unresponsive for what I'm told is three or four seconds, my natural instinct kicked in: I stood perfectly still and screamed. Then my knees went out and I fell to the floor where I curled into the fetal position and began to cry. I am not sure when it happened, but by the time I calmed down I was lying in an unexpected puddle. 

Schlepping the carpet cleaner out of the laundry room in the morning, I felt demoralized and humiliated. I wish that I had the gumption and courage to defend if necessary, but apparently that is not my response. Despite my plans and best intentions, my "fighting" instinct  apparently dissolves into a puddle of my own urine. So much for being a great protector!