OK, so I have a couple.
One of which is bacon. Not eating it, mind you. Not even handling it raw (which I hate to do with raw chicken...I gag and come close to dry-heaving. Yes, seriously...) My fear with bacon is cooking the stuff. I rarely order it when I am out for breakfast, either, because I like my bacon *thisclose* to being totally burnt. Just the way I like my roasted marshmallows. Nobody ever gets it just right.
I am always afraid I am going to get spit and popped on, and I always, always freaking do. But once in a while I get a hankering for eggs and bacon, and I will break out the pre-cooked bacon so I can avoid the hot grease spitting at me. But I was out. And I had a craving. And I learned my lesson, once again.
See what happened tonight?
Shut UP. Yes there is a mark there. It got me. The evil bacon grease got me. And when it did, I screamed like a big sissy, causing the boys to come running in to the kitchen to see what horrible tragedy had befallen me. Even the cat came in. And I swear I saw her roll her eyes at me.
But I ended up with my nummy dinner.
Oh, and my second irrational fear? Clowns. Go ahead and laugh. Then read "It" and hop on my little bandwagon.
