I Put the "Ph" in Phobias

For no particular reason, here’s a list of some irrational fears I have.

* Wearing dirty clothes and not knowing it. I put on a pair of pants a few days ago before work, and if I had not had the, eh hem, hindsight to check out my own butt in the mirror, I might not have seen the giant spot from God knows what plastered into the left cheek of the pants. I wonder what shirt goes best with humiliation. I also get scared of staining clothes in an unfortunate place. I once spilled my red Crystal Light on my lap. Had I not been wearing black pants, I would have just about died from embarrassment.

* Not having enough money at a check-out. There is nothing more frustrating than being behind someone at the grocery store who either doesn’t have enough cash on hand, or their credit card isn’t working properly. I fear that I am going to be that person holding everyone up behind me, hearing their murmurs of disgust, “She shouldn’t be buying all those bagels and bottles of wine if she doesn’t have money.” The worst part of this fear manifests itself in parking lots where you pay as you exit. I check out my cash situation before I even park, and then I spend a few minutes making sure I’ve got more than enough again before I leave, and that I have it ready in my hands before pulling up to the booth. The fear that I may have to back up, potentially causing a line of other drivers to do the same thing, re-park, and get out and find an ATM is palpable.

* Eating a Band-Aid. The only thing worse than finding a Band-Aid in your food at a restaurant is not finding the potential Band-Aid. Since I’ve never actually found one in my food, I have put myself in danger of having eaten like a dozen in my lifetime.

* Feet. This is no secret to anyone who knows me. I hate feet. I can’t look at them, I can’t stand it when people look at mine, and, under no circumstances, are feet to come in direct contact with any parts of my skin. Feet are horrible. They smell. They’re either bony and bumpy, or thick and swollen. They have all kinds of rough areas. So I’m pretty much on constant alert for any offending feet in my immediate area. When my mom is feeling particularly wicked, she’ll poke me on the leg with her toe and I’ll freak out. The one exception to this fear? My niece’s feet. Her toes feel like little pieces of rice, and smell like her cotton socks. They’re soft and I simply don’t mind them at all.

* Inadvertently Stealing. I can walk around Target for hours. I like wandering from department to department. And by the time I get to Electronics, I’ve forgotten that the lip balm I picked up in Cosmetics is in my hand, not my basket. So I’ll start piling my stuff on the conveyer belt to check out (only after making sure to have enough money, btw) and I’ll come thisclose to dropping the lip balm in my purse to free up my hands. I’m terrified that I’ll be walking out of the store, alarms will sound, and I will be caught stealing $3 lip balm.