The Hypochondriac He told me that if he dropped his knapsack on the floor of some of the restaurants he eats in, he'd leave it there. He admitted that he washes his hands after he takes off his shoes, in case some microscopic remnant of urban filth has touched him. He said he was allergic to vegetables. Even celery. Celery is nothing. There's nothing in celery to be allergic to. Did he mean that absolutely nothing sets off a reaction in him that he insists demands immediate medical attention? Yes. Now will I be that abandoned knapsack? Will I be the shoe whose grime he washes off his hands after touching me? Or will I be the grime? Will I be celery? Will I be nothing? Or will I be a combination of everything he's ever been allergic to or afraid of? Yes. Will I go on another date with him? No.

Who is Anita Liberty? | Anita Liberty on Anita Liberty | Weekend Report | Advice from Anita Liberty | Datebook | An Interview | A Poem | Excerpts From Her Best-Selling Self-Help Manual | A Word | Postcards to Your Ex | Email to Anita Liberty | Liberate Yourself | Anita Liberty Hot Line