I am a scaredy cat. There I said it.
Fear of the dark, the boogey man, heights, needles, evil clowns, dentists, vegetables, spiders, Roseanne Barr; I’ve got it all. Of course as an adult I suppress my natural response to such things. I shamefully hide them and pretend they don’t affect me, but sadly they do.
Speaking of Hitchcock, I can’t shower at a hotel/motel without being full of trepidation and I’m very suspicious of any and all large bird gatherings. (Good evening to you, sir! Good evening to YOU.)
My nightly bedtime routine is a sight to behold as well; I make my way around the house shutting off the lights and double checking all the doors. I purposely leave the closest light to my room on until last, not because I won’t be able to see in the dark but because I don’t want to be alone with the dark. I flip that last switch and haul buns around the corner before anything can get me.
Do you have a predetermined plan of action for when you drive by a corn field at night? I do. I lock the doors and drive with a vengeance. If anything pops out of that corn and is hit by the car I’m not stopping to see if it’s okay. I’ll keep driving and I’m not looking back. No diminutive Amish looking kids are taking me out.
Unfortunately Mr. King’s personalized reign of terror also extends beyond film to one of his many literary works. I don’t tread anywhere near storm drains for fear of the children snatching clowns that live in them. “We all float down here Georgie.” [A chill just shot up my spine]
With Halloween right around the corner I’m all but assured a fresh opportunity to develop new irrationally charged mildly debilitating compulsions to be shamefully concealed in the company adults and children alike. Yay!
I’d ask for your phobias but I’m afraid of what you might say.