It's difficult for some people to spread their wings. I've been shy my entire life, in varying degrees. There are two schools of thought on social phobia. A.) It's learned behavior. Well, my mother is shy. Or, B.) It is a genetic disorder. Well, my mother is shy. I do not feel that "shy" is a bad quality—it isn't "cruelty" or "maliciousness", after all...

But nevertheless, it can be a disabling if gone unchecked.

When I first relocated to Wilmington, I felt I was in another world. I couldn't understand a darn thing these people were saying. I was afraid to talk to people because my ears couldn't pick through the accent. (It all just seems silly now, because Wilmingtonians don't have a very thick Southern drawl!) Honestly, I was afraid to do anything on my own.

Essentially, I exercised my independence in a couch potato sort of way.

I stuck like glue to Miles when we were in public. I was his shadow. He grew used to his shadow. He misses his shadow. He's irritated that his shadow has gone away. He's really irritated. Really, really.

Really.

He doesn't like that I wander off on my own when we're out together. He dislikes spending 30 minutes circling a given location in an effort to find me. He's commented many times, "You were easier to maintain with your social anxiety in full force." Tough luck, Bub.

He's rather stern that I take my cell phone with me whenever we leave the house. I say, "Oh, hon. That's just silly. You always carry your phone, we don't need two." His eyebrows lower menacingly as he grunts and bobs his head trying to find just the right way to diss me and my wandering ways. Eventually, I agree to his demands...but now and then I leave the phone at home, and plot the perfect place to go astray. I figure it keeps him young.