I was packing for my trip to the Fangoria Weekend of Horror. They'd finally decided to hold it in Houston, a city within traveling distance, and ii wasn't going to miss it if I had to hitchhike. Luckily, that wouldn't be necessary. I was going to take a bus from Beaumont, the next town over, then catch a taxi to the big hotel where the convention was being held. The problem was, Mom was not pleased with my travel plans.

"But sweetie," Mom argued. "Why spend all that money on a bus trip up and back? Houston is only a few hours away. You could drive it easily." I finished stuffing the last pair of knickers into my suitcase and began the daunting task of zipping it up. "It would save so much money."

"How do you figure that, Mom? Sit on this, will you?"

Mom obligingly plopped down on the soft sided suitcase lying on the bed. I gained another inch of slack and forced the zipper closed. There now. If I treated it gingerly, it might not explode. "Well, tickets..."

"Look, figure wear and tear on my old hoopty, plus gas, plus oil, plus I need another two tires to keep from being sited for safety violations. I can get away with that locally, but not out on the highway. Then there's parking in Houston, and the chance that someone might steal it, tired as it is. Add to that the fact that it could very well leave me by the side of the road, and the fact that I'm fucking terrified of heavy traffic..."

"Scribe! Language!"

I sighed, and hugged my mother's neck. *I'm forty years old,* I thought, *and Mom thinks I'm still in junior high.* Aloud I said, "Sorry, but that's the appropriate intensifier in this case. 'Freaking' just doesn't say it. I'd die of a heart attack before they had a chance to run me off the road. You know that."

"I suppose so. It's just I don't like the idea of you on public transportation. Sometimes men try to... take advantage of women traveling alone. Why don't you take your nice friend Lawrence with you? Didn't you say he was going, too?"

Mom had been hinting that there should be something more than friendship between Lawrence and I for some time now. Lawrence was my 'sister', I couldn't very well say, "Yeah, but I don't think his lover, Alex, would be too thrilled to have me along. This is kind of a second honeymoon for them, ya know." Instead I said, "Relax, Mom. When was the last time a man tried to take advantage of me? That drunk when I was working graveyard at the convenience store. That beer bottle upside his head convinced him to stop."

Really, it was sweet, but frustrating. Mom was certain that every man on the planet was panting after my rather panda bear shaped body. The fact that I hadn't had a single date in high school hadn't shaken her belief. She was certain that her daughter was going to marry and start popping out grandkids before menopause hit. She kept asking me if I weren't tired of being a career girl, and ready to settle down. I replied that corn dog stand manager at the local mall hardly qualified me as a 'career girl.' As to the lonely part... I'd come to the conclusion that I just wasn't highly sexed. The fact that I was still a virgin at the official Over the Hill age seemed to prove that.

Oh, I wasn't exactly frigid. I had an extremely active fantasy life, Mom would have been surprised at some of the books tucked under my mattress over the years, and when Mom was away overnight on business, the adult section at the local video store got a workout. More nights than not there was a bit of panting and thrashing going on under the blankets, but that was it. And, at this stage in my life, I had decided I might as well make a conscious decision to remain chaste. It sounded better than being resigned to it.

Mom finally settled into a quiet grumble, and by then it was time to go to the bus station. She loaded me with enough sodas, snacks, tissues, and magazines to last a cross country trip, and cried when she kissed me good-bye. I hugged her with wry, hopeless affection, and mounted the steps into the Great Grey Dog.

I snagged a window seat, and waved to Mom till we were out of the station and down the street, then sat back with a sigh. It's my own fault, I thought. I should have insisted on going away to college, instead of staying home. Maybe then she'd believe I was past adolescence. *Hell, going to girl scout camp would have been a start.*

One of the magazines Mom had provided was a Fangoria (bless 'er), and I settled in to study the roster of celebrities who were scheduled to attend the convention. This was going to be a good one. Kane Hodder, Robert Englund, Wes Craven, Heather Langencamp, Tom-by-God Savini! I'd packed my copy of his Grande Illusions and intended to make an absolute fool of myself, if necessary, to get it signed.

A steady rumble, one that wasn't caused by humongous tires on concrete, seeped into my consciousness after awhile. I glanced around, thinking that God wouldn't possibly be so cruel as to visit engine trouble on my transport. Then I got a look at the sky up ahead. Whoa, when had that happened?

It was the roiling purple-black of a very upset prune from one side of the horizon to the other. There were constant, almost stroboscopic, flashes of lightening lacing the clouds. Given the color of the clouds, I could understand the lavender colored lightening. The green flashes, however, stumped me.

I murmured, "What in the pluperfect hell is that?"

I hadn't expected to be answered and was a little shocked when a voice behind me said, matter of factly, "End of the world."

"Wha-huh?" I remarked intelligently.

An elderly gent holding a pocket radio, a button earphone screwed into one ear, leaned around the edge of the seat and repeated himself. "End of the world."

"Uh... sorry. I'm Southern Baptist, and that don't quite look like Apocalypse to me."

He shrugged. "Different interpretations. The National Weather Service (controlled by the Columbian Drug Cartels, by the way) says it has something to do with that shuttle craft they're expecting back from Saturn. Or was it Uranus? Nope, Saturn. Maybe Neptune. Anyway, there's some sort of freaky reaction expected when it hits the ozone layer in a little while. Something to do with a new form of radiation. Or is it quantum physics? Anyway, I expect J. Edgar Hoover has a hand in it, as usual." He smiled broadly. "I'm an undercover agent for the FBI, you know."

I stared at him for a moment. The devil sitting on my left shoulder sucker punched the angel sitting on my right. I said in a Natasha Fatale accent. "Yes. We at KGB are knowing this for long time." His eyes went round, and he dropped back. I raised my voice, "Kisses and hickeys to Fox Mulder, and a big wet one for Scully."

I shook my head. The world is full of weirdness, and I seem to be magnetize, as far as that's concerned. I'd learned long ago that if you met insanity head on and on its own turf, it was easier to deal with. Consequently, there wasn't a whole lot in the world that I scoffed at. Except the president's explanation about his numerous peccadillos. Some things just stretch the imagination.