This has been on my mind for a while and, because I have a bit of expendable time on this long holiday weekend, I feel compelled to share. (Pssssst. This is your opportunity to stop reading. ) There are events in our lives that trigger feelings of anxiety. For some of us, more events trigger more anxiety. Case in point - the city crosswalk. A few months ago, I was in Miami. I was walking to a grocery store across the street from the hotel and had to wait for the traffic light to change to allow me to cross the street safely. Let me interject here - crossing the street safely in downtown Miami is a relative matter. Anyway, the traffic light turned red. I got the "You may walk now" signal. I stepped into the street. And got the countdown. WHAAAAA? I had to cross four lanes of traffic and the countdown is happening. 12...11... Dear baby Jesus! I've got bad knees! 10...9...EEEEEK! I just lost my flip flop in the street! Oh, well. I'll try to slip into it on my way back. On. My. Way. Back? 8...7...Ahhhhh. The median. Blessed oasis of semi-safety. Whole Foods. So close. Yet so far. 6...5...I hear engines revving. Visions of the Stephen King movie "Christine" - a demon-possessed vehicle intent on running down unsuspecting pedestrians - fill my mind. I hear Cruella deVil cackle maniacally. 4...3...My chubby little feet shuffle frantically across the last lane. The toes of one foot desperately clutched into talons in an attempt to hold onto my remaining flip flop. So this is it. This is how it ends. Me. In the middle of a downtown Miami street. Alone. Wearing one flip flop. The toes of my left foot frozen into a hapless claw. Dear Lord. Did I remember to put on clean underwear? 2...1...I close my eyes. Steeling myself for the inevitable impact. "Steeling myself" A last, inexplicable vision of my buns of steel crumpling Christine's blood-soaked grill and me walking away - victoriously high-fiving incredulous Cuban-Americans as my solitary flip flop comes floating toward me in the draft of the Indy 500 qualifiers speeding by. Unfortunately, I have no buns of steel. I stumble over the curb - my last flip flop falling into the drain. Cars speeding by behind me. I made it. I. MADE. IT. The children of Israel's safe passage across the Red Sea could not have contained more joy, gratitude, and praise to God than mine across the Miami thoroughfare. There may or may not have been kissing the sidewalk involved. I don't even remember what I was going to buy in Whole Foods. I wonder do they sell flip flops. I DEFINITELY need clean underwear. I decided to Uber back across the street. But that's a story for another post.