10 Ridiculous Things That Scare the Bejesus Out of Me! (I apologize in advance for #6.)
So, we’ve been hanging out online together now for the past few months, and I’ve become very fond of you, and even have begun to trust you to a certain extent, so maybe it’s time I come clean.
I have a handful . . . well, okay, maybe it’s more like two handfuls . . . of fears of ridiculous things that would no more scare any of you than, say, a bag full of extra large marshmallows. And yet, each of these things hits me where it counts.
Okay, here goes. I’m baring my soul.
This giant lady of the lake. There’s something about larger than life statues that give me the heebie-jeebies. There’s also something about submerged items that give me the willies. This particular statue combines both of my fears into the “perfect fear storm”, as it were. It’s innately wrong, and I’d like it to please just go away. Thank you.
Photo courtesy of: funnyall-the-timeblogspot.com
Honestly, anything giant that’s under the water makes my list. Anything giant that’s under the water that’s capable of swallowing me whole is at the top of my list. Now, I don’t know what specific type of whale this is, and frankly, I don’t care. The fact that it won’t eat me because it merely feeds on plankton is irrelevant because I would die of a heart attack anyway if I happened to look down to see it lurking beneath me. Therefore, I’d be dead either way.
Opening up a Pillsbury dough can. Oh yeah, my boys get a real kick out of this one. “Ooh! Mom is about to open the can of rolls! Everybody gather ’round!” This is not a debilitating fear, but it’s certainly not something I enjoy. The anticipation of knowing that the can is going to rupture at the seams at any second and spew forth aggressive dough, like an exploding muffin top, makes me squint my eyes, extend my arms as far as they’ll go in preparation for the unavoidable explosion, and then shriek when it happens. Can’t help it.
The Game of Perfection. Similarly, I’ve learned to be the fastest shape placer east of the Mississippi for fear of having these dang pieces pop up in my face and . . . what? Lacerate my eyeballs? Fly up my nostrils? Eternally brand my cheek with a fat plus sign? I’m not sure, but all I can say is that I’ve become a Perfection ninja. You start the timer, and my fingers are flying, baby!
Sinkholes. There’s no excuse for them. We use the saying “he’s on solid ground” for a reason. Ground is about as elemental as it gets. It should be something we can count on without question. I mean, it’s “terra firma”, dude. The earth should not open up on a whim, whenever the mood suits, to form a circular gateway to hell.
Did you know that Florida, along with having the most lightning strikes and shark attacks, has the most sinkholes of any state? Truth. Um, why do people choose to retire there again?
The evil Child Catcher guy from “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”. I’m not too proud to admit it. There’s something about this shifty-eyed, sugar pusher that sends shivers racing down my spine even now. Never liked him, never will. Also? I’ve always pretty much been a sugar ho, so I would have certainly been one of the first munchkins trapped in his wagon oh-so-many years ago. As a matter of fact, that tri-colored sucker is looking pretty good to me even now.
Which is a perfect segue to my next ridiculous fear: a never-before-seen worldwide sugar shortage that would force me to do without sweets.
The bald man baby face swap. Computer graphics have taken this idea to a whole new level. Is this really necessary? Can’t we get a kick out of something less . . . freakish?
Photo courtesy of: buzzfeed.com
Seemingly harmless garter snakes. Yes, I’m talking about you, brother Jeremy.
Basement stairs with open risers. Not only do I fear that I will fall through, which would pretty much defy every law of physics known to mankind, but I also may have given a thought or two to a random zombie hand reaching through and choke-holding me by the ankle, which, you have to admit, is much, much more likely.
Photo courtesy of: dailymail.co.uk
There you go. I shared. I bared my ridiculata. Frankly, I bared my soul.
What about you?
What are your irrational fears?
Maybe admitting to a fear of leaving a comment on a blog might be a healthy place to start . . .