Constantly living in fear
This morning's South Florida Sun-Sentinel has a story entitled "Tupperware to Tasers", which discusses one entrepreneur's foray into home-shopping parties.
I will not be having one of these parties. (Not that I would have a Tupperware party, either, but that's besides the point.)
The central premise of this current trend in personal ownership of tasers is rooted in a deep, deep fear:
Before she lets them shoot her little pink stun gun, Dana Shafman ushers her new friends to the living room sofa for a serious chat about the fears she thinks they all share.
"The worst nightmare for me is, while I'm sleeping, someone coming in my home," Shafman says, drawing a few solemn nods from the gathered women. Shafman, 34, of Phoenix, says she used to stash knives under her pillow for protection.
Welcome, she says, to the Taser party.
I cannot fathom this level of daily fear. I have lived alone. I have walked alone at night. I have taken appropriate precautions about doing these things and been conscious of my surroundings. Only occassionally did I find myself a little anxious about it. Perhaps I'm completely naive, but I've never experienced this level of fear. It makes me sad that other people do.