I wondered how on earth you would discover you had
arachibutyrophobia - fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the
mouth.I know phobias shouldn't be
ridiculed but at least that's one phobia that's pretty easy to body swerve. 'No
thanks,' to the peanut butter.Do not
approach the jar, and, if you do, certainly do not open it, spread it on your
bread, eat it and wait ominously for it to coat the roof of your mouth.Stick with Marmite - like it or hate it,
it's a far safer option.
Then there's chirophobia - fear of hands.That's a bit more difficult.Hands are everywhere, including on the ends
of your arms. How on earth do you cope with that one? Is it just bare
hands?I wonder if it's not a problem
when gloves are worn or hands are in pockets? What about one's OWN hands? Is it
ok if you carry on using them but just don't look at them? Do you have to have a
cook, a cleaner and someone to wipe your bottom at all times?
Given a choice, I think I'd settle for
consecotaleophobia - a fear of chopsticks. I mean, unless I worked in a Chinese
restaurant how often would Iencounter
these eating implements in my daily life? If I just steer clear of Wok Wow's on
my way home from a night out I'll be fine. I pondered on the genesis of a phobia
such as this.Does it just rear up one
night as you're about to get to grips with your beef noodles?Or did you once accidentally poke yourself
in the eye with a chopstick when going for a sweet and sour pork ball.
I'm sure some phobias apply to the majority of the
population at times. Fear of teenager? Yes, I realize now, I suffered from
ephebiphobia for most of the 1990s when I had three of them in the house. I just
didn't know it had a name.Similarly,
soceraphobia (fear of parents-in-law) could be quite debilitating in the early
years of marriage. I swear it developed swiftly after one particular visit,
where, unasked, they were vociferous in their criticism of the dark brown paint
we were slapping on the walls (in our defence, we were young art students and
this was the 70s after all). With hindsight, they were probably right, but the
soceraphobia was hard to shake off.
Just as I am congratulating myself on being phobia
free for years, I discover, with a jolt of recognition:
Disposophobia - fear of throwing out stuff. Hoarding.
Last week's blog post dances before my eyes..... My name is Jill Reidy and I'm a disposophobic.
No poem this week out of respect to any metrophobics looking in.....
Thanks for reading, Jill Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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