Health and Fitness terror

Published on June 11th, 2012 | by Molly Karrasch

4

Uh Oh: She’s Afraid Of Everything

I recently had a birthday, and then my kid had a birthday, and all this AGING got me feeling a little nostalgic.  In the worst way.  My first vivid birthday memory is being racked with guilt and anxiety over a bag of confetti my mom gave me when she met my dad halfway to pick me up on… probably my fifth birthday.  The price tag was still on, and I remember silently freaking out about what a gigantic waste of money it was (at least a dollar-ninety-something!!).  I thought I would take this opportunity to publicly admit my most irrational fears and anxieties leftover from childhood.  A “best of,” if you will.  Make sure you share your most irrational worries in the comments section, so I don’t feel like such a freak for being afraid of everything, deal?

Washcloths.  I’m getting better about this one.  I actually own washcloths now.  Two weeks ago I bought a dozen.  Before two weeks ago, my thoughts were: “It is not financially feasible for me to use a washcloth once and then toss it in the garbage.  Nor do I want the reputation of a person who treats durable-use consumer items as disposable.”  But I had this persistent fear that once you washed a particularly dirty body part with a washcloth, IT WOULD NEVER BE CLEAN, EVER, EVER AGAIN.  I think you know which body part I’m talking about–that’s right–backs of the knees.  {shiver}

In addition to scrubbing power, each of these tiny cloth loops has the germ holding power of toddler fist. Also, your pig lost all its air.

Oh, hey, judgey-pants, I assure you this is NOT just a list of things I think are germ-y.  It’s pretty close to that, but I think you are in for a few silly surprises!  There probably IS a complete sub-category of creepy, wet, household items here, but I’m not interested in making this a comprehensive list.  Maybe someday, but for now this sneak peek into my crazy is quite enough.  

Bathtubs. Was there ever a more disgusting way of getting clean than making a gigantic soup of your grimy filth?  Don’t get me started on “relaxing” in a bathtub.  Unless it is freshly scrubbed, scoured, sterilized and steam cleaned, I have no interest in kicking back in your filth pot.  

Acceptable and *bonus* CLASSY use for a bathtub.

 Shower curtains.  I should mention here and now, these fears have absolutely nothing to do with the movie Psycho.  Just FYI.  This particular fear has to do with a clammy curtain wrapping itself around my leg and all of the HORRIBLE things that will SURELY happen when a shower curtain comes into direct contact with my body.  I don’t think you can even handle the terrible things, so I won’t tell you, but there is crying and screaming involved.  Don’t pry.  

Shower walls.  Push me against a shower wall and then TRY to convince me you didn’t just try to skin me alive.  

Kitchen sinks.  Especially drains.  And putting my hands in sink of dishes or dishwater.  Or old food on dishes.  God bless rubber gloves.  

See that, right by the drain? That is DEATH.

Sponges.  For the love of god, that’s not any way to clean, is it?!!

"Look, Mommy! Mmmm, cheese!" "Noooooooooooooooooo!"

 The underneaths of faucets.  If a glass touches the rim of the faucet while I’m filling it with water, it is unsuitable for drinking.  (Like I’m drinking tap water with this laundry list of neuroses. Hahahahaha.)

It would take tens of thousands of dollars to get me to put my mouth on that. But not your mom. Know what I mean, wink-nudge? I know you don't, hehehe.

This concludes the obviously germaphobic portion of this non-comprehensive list of shit that eeks me out.

Butterflies.  All that “beauty” seems dishonest.  Also, their erratic flight patterns do not put me at ease.  And there is nothing like dead butterfly wing dust to bring me down.  

Little known fact: That butterfly was named Marshal Mathers. Isn't that inspiring?

Police.  This is not your usual “cops make me nervous because I am always speeding” or “I was a wild teenager and cops still make me jumpy.”  As a very small child, I would panic whenever I saw any kind of flashing light.  One night, my mom’s then-boyfriend was pulled over in a notorious speed trap near our hometown.  I’m pretty sure the whole speed trap operation was federally indicted and shut down years ago, but not before my nine-year-old self had a junior heart attack waiting for the cop to take us all to jail or at least make us swim in the filthy lake as punishment.  

"You have been very bad boys and girls, so I'm taking you all to the water's edge at Public Beach #2 and you are getting directly in and swimming until you have learned your filthy lesson."

Hot air balloons. Specifically, hot air balloons piloted by children.  I wouldn’t join Brownies, not because I was anti-social from an early age (I was) but because I was a decidedly not adventurous youngster.  And the flyer advertising becoming a Brownie had a cartoon drawing of a few girls flying in a hot air balloon.  I thought hot air ballooning was the sole activity of Brownie-ing based on this flyer. I kept it from my mom for a few days, quickly glancing in horror at the green typing paper with the clip art-y children FLYING a balloon, before a wave of panic washed over me and I’d shove the paper back into my killer whale folder.  I knew she had been a Brownie (how brave of her to tackle aviation as a kindergartner!) and I was pretty sure she would want me to do this too.  HOW could I tell her that the Brownies looked reckless and irresponsible?  Who puts a group of little girls in charge of flammable gas and SOARING through the freaking SKY?  The Curious George cartoon has recently featured a story line involving a young boy and a monkey flying a hot air balloon.  A balloon manned by a monkey.  Terrifying. 

… especially alive and safely on the ground. (text on reverse of patch)

Birthday cake.  I don’t like it that much and it’s always a gamble.  Gritty frosting can ruin an entire weekend.

Gorilla attacks.  After watching some 80s movie with a gorilla in a house, I started having recurring nightmares about gorillas breaking into my house via the door, the toilet, parachuting out of an airplane and crashing through the roof, etc., etc., etc.  

Bicycles.  I know HOW to ride one, I CHOOSE not to at this juncture in my life because it looks physically precarious and I have a lot on my mind, okay?? 

That’s it for now.  What are your irrational fears?  Please, make me feel better.  Someone be terrified of gummy bears or flip flops.

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About the Author

Molly Karrasch acts classy as an actor-ess in Austin, TX, often as a company member at austinplayhouse.com. She is also a producer of theatre, writer of ridiculousness, mother of boy, keeper of books and would never get anything done without Jay-Z. An enormous percentage of her time is spent trying to kick anorexia in the face. She once pulled a pocket knife on rapper Mack 10 in a mini-van in a Wal-Mart parking lot; RELAX, it was to HELP him.


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  • JiveTurkeyJones

    I actually share a lot of these fears, but none of them make it on to my “GIANT HONKING PHOBIA” list. I cannot abide drains and shower stall walls, though. Refuse to touch either under any circumstances.

    Also, “your pig lost all its air” is my favorite caption of all time.

    • http://twitter.com/mollyactsout Molly Rose

      I look forward to collaborating with you on this “GIANT HONKING PHOBIA” list project for years to come.  Trust me, it will be really, really good for you; you’re gonna love this.  You just need to constantly think about these fears and spread the panic.

      And: Why, thank you.

  • Marcy

    Bare feet on a wet/damp bathroom floor.  Even my own, that I clean on a regualr basis.  Skeeves me out.  There are two places I will step on in the bathroom after the shower, the mat and a towel strategically placed in front of the sink.  Everywhere else is like molten lava to me.

    • Molly Karrasch

      Let’s move in together.

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