Everybody is afraid of something. Be it heights, roller coasters or airplanes, when put in the right situation even the bravest of us can turn into weeping puddles of mush. I know, I know, my tough and hilarious exterior would lead you to believe that I have super-human cojones, but even Indiana Jones is afraid of snakes and that man is a badass. So in an effort to relate to all of the normal people out there, I’ve comprised a list of my top five biggest- and coincidentally most irrational- fears. Without further adieu, and in no particular order…
Oscar Wilde once said, “You can always judge a man based on the quality of his enemies.” I have a similar mantra, only mine is: “You can always judge a man based on whether he will kill a moth for you.” That’s right, fellas, take note! I hate everything about these powdery, clothes-gnawing creatures: their flapping wings, their bitchy “I’m-drawn-to-light” attitudes. I swear moths can smell my fear and purposely seek me out. You might be wondering if I ever had some weird trauma in my childhood involving moths or butterfly farms, and the answer is no- I just find them disgusting. I honestly don’t know when it started. I’ve never liked bugs, or anything with wings, or anything warm-blooded with a pulse. But something about the way moths congregate at the light on your porch just gives me the willies. Growing up my parents would always leave the side-door light on for me when I was coming home late. It only took a few times of me waking them up in the middle of the night with feverish raps on the (locked) front-door for them to realize that I physically could not get myself to walk into the moth-laden side of the house. Fuck moths.
2. Sour cream
Where to begin with my hatred/fear of sour cream? First of all, listen to the actual name of the stuff: Sour Cream. As in, a dairy product- in this case cream- that was once fresh and edible, now soured. Would you drink curdled milk? Would you eat moldy yogurt? Didn’t think so. So then why in God’s name have people been pushing this disgusting excuse for a nacho chip dip on me for as long as I can remember?! My disdain for sour cream is unparalleled. The smell, sight and touch of it makes me gag worse than watching a four-year-old eat peanut butter and fluff. If it ever touches my body my epidermis starts to blister and shrivel, like the Wicked Witch of the West after she gets a bucket of water dumped on her. “I”m melting, I’m melting!” I yell to my friends, as I continue to drunkenly shovel nachos down my throat. Because I can’t think of any other reason I might touch sour cream other than sharing a plate of nachos at a bar and even then you better keep that shit facing your side of the table.
3. Female balding
I know what you’re thinking- I must either A.) have thinning hair, or B.) female baldness runs in my family. Nope and nope. In fact I was born with a full, thick head of hair. Wait, hold that thought- I was actually born with weird male-pattern baldness and my parents called me Mr. Fields, but I grew luscious locks soon after. I think what frightens me about female balding is that it’s not accepted by society as “normal.” Sure, plenty of guys lose their hair and can just throw a scaly cap on and call it a day. Or they go the Mister Clean route and bic their domes, which many ladies find sexy. But women don’t have that luxury, and after gravity inevitably smites me with saggy boobs and underarm skin that hangs like bat wings, the last thing I need is to lose my hair.
I don’t know much about tapeworm. I have no idea how you catch it, how you kill it, or what it does to your insides exactly. I just know that I once read a story about somebody having a tapeworm like, three times the size of their large intestine, and the only way they could get rid of it was by luring it out of their asshole with a slice of cheese or something, and they had to PULL THE THING OUT OF THEIR ANUS. Like a fucking snake charmer luring his pet cobra out of a basket. The only positive thing I can see to contracting tapeworm is that it’s a pretty good weight loss method. This is usually something I tell myself when I’m out to dinner and paranoid that I’m going to get food poisoning (another irrational fear): “Hey, at least I’ll drop a couple LBs, AMIRIGHT?” Actually, forget #4, I think I want tapeworm. Trying to get skinny for the last month of summer.
5. The Killer in the House
“I can’t let the dog outside, mom, The Killer will attack me.” “Did you hear that noise? Probably just The Killer making his rounds.” “Will you leave the hallway light on, I don’t want The Killer to get me while I’m walking up the stairs.” My adolescence is peppered with vivid memories of The Killer, bebopping his way through the downstairs of my home while we all unknowingly slept upstairs. Am I the only person who has this fear? Is it just a girl thing? I remember talking to my sisters about it once, and we all had our own versions of what we thought The Killer might look like and what part of our home he did his bidding in. I figured he was hiding alongside the Ethiopian family that I was convinced lived in our unfinished basement. My older sister thought he was waiting for her on the deck, ready to plunge an axe into her back when she bent down to chain the dog to his leash. And my twin knew he was hiding in the attic with all of the dead flies, bumblebees and bats to keep him company. And although we never caught a glimpse of him, we knew the ominous Killer was there, waiting for us in the middle of the night. At least that’s the excuse I gave my mom for why I could never go downstairs to do laundry or scoop cat litter.