The new 'man' in my life...

Every fall, without fail, I find a new man living in my apartment. Last year, his name was George. This year, his name is Fred. Fred the ladybug.

I'm not sure if this Fred the same Fred from a few months ago. I'm sure that the Fred's come and go at random. But either way, we co-exist in harmony and peace. I do things for Fred--mainly saving him from eminent death. No matter what, if I'm around, Fred will not succumb to a watery demise on my watch. I've saved him from the bathroom sink, covered in toothpaste. I've scooped him out of hot dishwater. I've flipped him right side up after he went on a night long bender and ended up on the counter top. This morning, I found Fred seeking refuge in my bed as I ran out the door to work.

Don't get me wrong--I am NOT a bug person. If Fred was a spider--he wouldn't be around long enough to GET a name. But then again, Fred doesn't bite. Fred doesn't scurry frantically along baseboards, and hide in ceiling corners, and fall onto my head, either. Fred merely gravitates toward the warmest lights in the house, settles in, and stays there.

I know what you're thinking--and no, I don't need a psychiatric evaluation. I think I'm just stuck in the living alone and not having anyone to talk to syndrome. Fred fulfills that need. Without Bubba or Ralphie, I get lonely--and I look for things to talk to. This time it just happens to be a ladybug instead of a plant or a fish. At least it's not a cat. I might be sad and lonely--but I am NOT a crazy cat woman.

For that I can be thankful.