Confession Time: I am a Grade-A worrywart. For those who know me IRL, this probably doesn't come as much of a revelation, but for those of you who don't, well, it's the truth. If the Olympic committee ever decides to make worrying an event at the games, I'm pretty confident that I could nab the gold for the States.
Well, maybe not that confident. What if I mess up? What if someone worries better than I do? SEE? I CAN EVEN WORRY ABOUT WORRYING.
This propensity towards worrying is something that gets commented on a lot around the house. In particular, both The Husband and Rufus The Roommate have noted this similarity between myself and that tightly-wound, loosely-wrapped wad of worrying that appears frequently in the webcomic Questionable Content: Hannelore.
The likening of me to Hannelore bothers me on two levels, which I will endeavor to explain now:
- While I will admit that they have me dead to rights on the worrying bit, I am nowhere--NOWHERE--near as straight-up, flat-out, all-around neurotic as Hannelore. I don't think anyone could be like that in real life without being heavily medicated.
- So if I'm like Hannelore, WHERE IS MY WORRY HAT?!
I mean, seriously; if you're gonna make comparisons between me and a cute clump of crazy like Hannelore, I want a fricking worry hat, too. Who knows? It might even work.
According to the maker of this one, it's pretty easy to do.
This guy even went the full nine with his worry hat, although his expression doesn't quite strike me as being particularly worried. He looks more like he is determined to never worry again. EVER.
So...yeah. My worry hat; WHERE IS IT?