These are some of the phobias I’m currently cultivating.
C = Claustrophobia- Fear of confined spaces.
R = Rhytiphobia- Fear of getting wrinkles.
A = Arachnophobia- Fear of spiders.
Z = Zemmiphobia- Fear of the great mole rat.
I = Ideophobia- Fear of ideas.
E = Enosiophobia – Fear of having committed an unpardonable sin or of criticism.
T = Triskaidekaphobia- Fear of the number 13.
O = Obesophobia- Fear of gaining weight.
W = Walloonphobia- Fear of the Walloons.
N = Nucleomituphobia- Fear of nuclear weapons.
I know a lot of people that share my more common phobias; claustrophobia and arachnophobia, and most women over the age of fifty have a fear of wrinkles and gaining weight. All the Catholics in the world probably share my fear of having committed an unpardonable sin and you’d have to be pretty obtuse not to have nucleomituphobia.
Until I wrote this blog post, I didn’t know I was afraid of the Great Mole Rat. Now that I know it exists, I’m definitely afraid of it.
And, in the spirit of full disclosure, I’m not actually afraid of the Walloons. I’m sure they are perfectly nice people, but I needed a W and the only other phobia was Wiccaphobia, the fear of witches and witchcraft. I’m not afraid of witches, as I think I might be one.
Unbelievably for someone with this many phobias, I’m not the least bit superstitious. I walk under ladders, step on cracks, cross paths with black cats and never blink and eye. But, the number 13 always causes a little shiver to run down my spine.
And now, what have I gone and done? Bought a 13-year-old house in the year 2013 with the number 13 in its street address and in its zip code. This whole messy part of my life started when we rented Apartment #1301 after leaving our last house of, what? That’s right. 13 years.
I’m told (by people who know such things) that thirteen is actually a powerful number and that this house is going to be lucky for me.
I’m sure it was luck when the landscape guy’s shovel hit the unmarked buried telephone line.
What good fortune it was, to have the wrong colored tile installed in the bottom five rows of the backsplash.
Lady Luck really must have enjoyed that trick, because when the wall of tile was torn down and reinstalled, I had five rows of wrong colored tile at the top.
And, how lucky we were when the stump grinder hit the sprinkler system – seven times.
Lucky when the cook top installer split the gas line and filled our floor joists with explosive fumes.
I was charmed when the morning of our move-in, we discovered that after buffing, the floor stain had been removed from the edge of every board creating an interesting striped effect.
Or, favored when the special order pendant lights arrived with three different finishes.
And it had to be a stroke of good fortune that the countertop was cut in such a way that we would not have to pay the expense of installing an exhaust fan.
If anyone knows a way to remove this jinx from my life, I’d love to hear what I could do, before the number of mishaps reaches 13.
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Whew! Sorry I can’t help. I’m crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over my head.
Dawn, that seems to be the safest place to me!