Назад каля 1999, Я праводзіў шмат тыдняў у Санта-Барбары, Каліфорнія, працоўныя для кліента, leaving my poor wife back here in New Jersey alone. I dearly love my wife. I love her just as much today as I did when she foolishly married me 1,000 years or so ago. Дзе-то ўздоўж лініі, Я прыдумаў фразу, "special fear", as in "Samantha has special fears." She as a special fear of "bugs", якія ёй не мухі або божыя кароўкі, but rather microbes. She’s afraid of this or that virus or unusual bacteria afflicting our son, ці мне, but never really herself. (Яна таксама спецыяльна баіцца вампіраў, мініяцюрныя лялькі зла (асабліва блазнаў) і падводных аварый; яна перараслі яе спецыяльны страх людзей, апранутых у касцюмы Санта-Клаўса).

Аднойчы, my co-worker and I decided to drive up into the nearby mountains near Ohai. At one point, we got out of the car to take in the scene. When we got back into the car, I noticed that a tick was on my shoulder. I flicked out the window and that was it.

У тую ноч, I told her about our drive and mentioned the tick. The conversation went something like this:

S: "Oooo! Those are bad. They carry diseases."

P: "Well, Я пстрыкнуў яго ў акно."

S: "They are really bad though. They can get under your skin and suck blood and transfer bugs. You better check your hair and make sure there aren’t any in your head!"

P: Ва ўвесь голас: "My God! CAN THEY TAKE OVER YOUR MIND???"

S: Літаральна абнадзейвае мяне: "No, яны не так ужо дрэнныя."

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