A Lovely Field of Mustard
In order not to leave you all hanging, I thought I'd just embarrass myself a little further and give full disclosure of my phobias.
- Little People
- Cotton Balls
I know. Trust me. I know.
I don't think that there is much to say about my discomfort when seeing little people. I in NO way want to come across prejudice in any way, shape or form, so I'm not going to say much. Suffice it to say that I've worked in jobs dealing with the public for the last six years. I've had customers that were 'small', and I'm kind and fine, and I look them in the eye. Ok, enough about that!
It's just things like this, this is wrong on so many levels:
Let's talk about cotton balls. Actually, I'd rather not. I'm covered in chills from head to toe at the moment, just thinking about them. It's the sound that they make. I really can't even stand to look at them. I used to keep them in the house for 'other people', but not anymore. They aren't allowed. If I end up buying a bottle of aspirin that has the dreaded cotton wad, I have to have someone else take it out, out of my sight. I'm Maury Povich material.
Now let's talk about mustard. It used to be ketchup, mayonnaise, and mustard. I've never tasted mustard by itself on anything. I've never eaten any a hamburger, or hotdog with ketchup or mustard. I never saw the appeal to condiments. I've just recently started using a miniscule amount of mayo on a sandwich. The idea of biting into a sandwich, and seeing mayonnaise squish out....well, the thought gags me. Why anyone would eat ketchup is beyond me. Mustard, it's just frightening. My phobia is touching it. When I'm preparing a sandwich for a loved one, or cooking something that has mustard as an ingredient, if I happen to get some on my hand, I feel like I'm going to faint. I really don't understand this one at all. I used to feel the same way about mayonnaise and ketchup, but now, I can have a little of that on my hand and be ok. Mustard....good Lord....I run to the sink and have to hold myself up so I don't fall over.
Do you realize how easily I could be tortured? You wouldn't need to remove my fingernails, or drill my teeth...oh no...just put a cotton ball in my lap, or smear mustard on me. I'd tell you everything you wanted to know!
I suppose my personal hell would be a 'little person' playing a saxophone in a room full of mannequins, and someone putting mustard on me with a cotton ball.