My mother once lost me at a department store. As she frantically hugged me, she started telling me how sure she was that someone took me. I was 40. I had the car keys. It dawned on me that she meant someone like, took took me. I pointed out that I’m loud to kidnap and they’ll kill me before taking me to a second location (never, ever let them take you to a second location). Still holding on, my mother informed me that they could “inject you with something to knock you out” and then sell me to sex traffickers.
My laughter reverberated through the building. People were looking. “OK. So you genuinely believe that someone might have drugged me and dragged my limp body out of the Newnan, Georgia Dillards for the purpose of human trafficking.”
“Stop laughing. It happens!”
“I live in New York City, but the Shops at Ashley Park is where it’s all going down.”
“I wish you would stop laughing at me. I was really concerned! They follow attractive, young girls.”
“I’M FORTY. Even if they’ve only seen me from behind, these are not the best traffickers.”
“Well, you’re very attractive.”
“I don’t think you know how sex trafficking works.”
julie warshaw 