Over the weekend, some jerk tried and failed to set off a car bomb in Times Square. My husband works right there. Surprisingly, we're not stressed in the least. No panic. No jump in blood pressure. No compulsive news watching. I'm more concerned about the Louisiana oil spill than the attempted bomb square.
Steve's home this week for a stay-cation, but is still getting calls from work. (grrrrr.) In those phone calls, nobody mentioned the bomb at his office. In contrast, his co-workers bit their nails during the Senate hearings last week.
Is this the new normal?
Ever since 9/11, we've gotten used to the idea that every morning when Steve rides the bus through the Lincoln Tunnel, he could end up in a pile of rubble. We've made peace with the fact that blowing up Times Square is tops on every terrorist wish list. This particular attempt seems amateurish and feeble.
I can't imagine that I was so jaded about car bombs eight years ago.