Did you think our earlier post was the full extent of our weirdness? Heck no, we’ve got plenty more where that came from…
Let’s talk about fears, aversions and phobias. Heights? Spiders? Nah, after all those are fairly normal–and one of the things I have a fear of? Being normal. 🙂
Stormy: Centipedes. There’s no reason they need so many legs! Millipedes? 10x worse! I once had a dream that I was laying in my bed and looked up to see a centipede above me on the ceiling. Then it dropped into my bed. I screamed, threw back the covers and leapt out of bed, nearly giving my poor husband a heart attack. At that point, I noticed that the room was completely dark, and there was no way that I could have seen a monkey on my ceiling, let alone a centipede. Frankly, I’d prefer a monkey.
KitKat: Sharks. Now that seems like a pretty healthy and normal fear. I mean, sharp teeth, that scary fin circling you as it closes in for the attack, the Jaws theme song … scary stuff. But I must admit, my phobia is a bit extreme. Whenever I am in the ocean, I always make sure there are other people in front of me in the water to ensure plenty of other shark bait, allowing me to run as others are gobbled up. I am often harassed about a fear-induced comment I made once about how I need a gun whenever I am in the ocean so I could shoot myself if a shark was going to eat me. And, don’t get me going on my ultimate fear of my plane crashing into the water and surviving until the sharks attack. Thank goodness for airport bars prior to flying.
Stormy: Like Mitt Romney, I’m no fan of Big Bird. I have nothing against educational children’s shows as a whole (although, let’s face it: most of them are drivel). However, I detest the big yellow bird. His voice grates on me, he’s a bit stupid (bird brain?) and worst of all, he’s just plain dull. Dullness is unforgivable in a Muppet. Give me Gonzo anyday… Or better yet, Animal. He’s kinda sexy.
KitKat: Wet bread. Yuck! I do not get dipping toast in egg yolk, grilled cheese in tomato soup or crackers in chili. It turns a perfectly delicious starch into a mushy, baby food consistency. I am gagging a bit as I type. If I pack a sandwich for lunch, the tomatoes and any mayo is packed separately so my bread won’t have any soggy spots when I eat it. Anyone who wants my help doing the dishes will be extra careful to throw all bread items into the garbage and not the sink. The ultimate worst – dirty water soaked bread. If I even see a piece of wet bread stuck to a plate or floating in the sink, I will call it quits and someone else is on dish duty.
Stormy: Belly buttons. They’re like some sort of mystery portal–a connection between the life force that spawned me and my own individual identity. I know that doctors tie the umbilical cord off after childbirth to create the bellybutton, so part of me worries that the darn thing will unravel and all my guts will spew forth. Is that really so irrational? After all, they were invented by man, not God–and we all know, man makes mistakes! This phobia extends to touching my bellybutton: Don’t go there! I’ll take your hand off with a cleaver if you come within a 3 inch radius of it. (Ask my husband, Stumpy. He once rolled over in his sleep and his arm flopped over on my stomach. Now he’s a lefty.) Navel rings? Over my dead body.
KitKat: What freak ever made satin sheets a sexy bedroom item? There is nothing that would have me running from a room faster, no matter who was under those covers. I can’t stand even a hint of satin trim on anything. The feel of it makes me shudder. My sister used to like scratching on it and then watching me cover my ears and go into a fetal position. It is like fingernails down a blackboard for me. Back when women wore suntan nylons, someone scratching their leg was a form of torture for me. If you have an old pair, feel them–very similar to satin.
Stormy: Wool. As people grow older, it’s recommended that you start communicating your wishes on critical end-of-life decisions to your children. Here’s mine: When I’m in the nursing home, DON’T LET THEM PUT WOOL SOCKS ON ME! OR A WOOL BLANKET! In fact, I’ve mentioned this not only to my kids, but to my husband, nieces, nephews and sibs, just to make sure my bases are covered (BUT NOT IN WOOL!) This is not a quirk fear…Somewhere in my early 30s, I developed an acute sensitivity to wool. I can try on a sweater in a store and, within 10 seconds, identify that there’s wool in it. As little as 5% in a blended fabric can start a rash. I can only wear wool skirts if they are lined and my top is tucked into my tights. And if I wear a wool coat, I have to have a turtleneck or scarf wrapped around my neck. As someone who lives in chilly Minnesota, I live in perpetual fear of wool. Thank God for cashmere!
KitKat: Stormy left an aversion out that as mothers we share: The Berenstain Bears. There are a few things playing against them: To begin with the droning preachiness about every and any lesson you care to know and some you don’t. There is no humor behind the stories and boring characters. To top it off, the books are really long. Not the book I am looking to read as I am quickly trying to get my kids to sleep and finally enjoy some quiet time. Check out The Little Brut Family. Stormy gave that to me as a recommended family favorite. Reminded me of my family (before they turned polite), sense of humor, and a quick bedtime read.