Stop! You're Making My Skin Crawl!

This morning, as I was sleepily grabbing a box of cereal from the pantry, I turned, stepping on something a bit squishy. When I flipped the light on I instantly began running in place and shaking my limbs like an octopus with turrets. There, staring me down and probably cussing me out was a pissed off hairy spider. That I just stepped on. With my bare foot. My bare foot people!

This beast was blocking the door, I knew there was no way he'd let me leave the pantry alive, especially after I had just taken the last bit of Cocoa Krispies. I had to act fast. I hurdled the monster, ducking so I wouldn't slam my head on the door frame, rendering me unconscious and easy prey to this carnivorous garden spider. Goosebumps tickled across my body as I desperately tried to forget the feeling of his body maniacally caressing my toes. I turned the corner, a bit too sharp, jarring my shoulder into the wall. Where is a shoe! Damn myself for deciding to straighten up before bed. I heard a russle down the hall, he was after me! There! There by the garage door, my old tattered running shoes, covered in grass from the lawn mower, sweet saviors! Grabbing the shoe I sprinted back down the hall, prepared for battle. Raising the shoe high above my head I prepared my best Braveheart battle cry, when I made the final turn into the kitchen I saw my sleepy two year old, sweetly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and softly asking, "Mommy?"

No! Not my baby boy! Take me instead you heartless arachnid! My son stepped forward, inches away from Boris the Spider who had now brandished his machete, an evil grin spreading across his thin lips. Spiders have lips, right? My motherly instincts kicked into full gear and in one sweeping move I wrapped my son in my left arm moving him safely behind and SQUIZISH! Boris is defeated!

Ick. I still get the heebie jeebies thinking about it.  My bare foot, yelch. This event became a discussion with my best friend and led into a list making session of what makes our skin crawl. If you eliminate insects my list is pretty small:

1. Clowns! (I bet you were wondering what that picture had to do with Boris. Side note: my Dad owns this mask, I avoid their house for the month of October). Yes, clowns. It's a real fear: Coulrophobia. No, I did not have a traumatic experience at a circus, I love the circus. This came about because of my grandmother. My grandmother was a shopaholic and organized hoarder; I'm sure that was a fun combination for my grandfather. On occasion my brother and I would stay the night and I was lucky enough to get the room with her collection of ceramic, musical jazz clowns. If that wasn't bad enough, they would often malfunction in the middle of the night. There I was, a sweet, little child asleep amidst the awful mix of varying potpourri scents only to be jarred awake by the playing of trombones, saxophones, trumpets and drums by the sinister jazz clowns. The light of the moon twisting their red, smiling lips into sneers. Thanks Grandma. This commercial is hilarious and pretty much sums it up.

2. Ceramic Dolls. I bet you didn't see that one coming. Seriously, they're creepy. Just look:

3. Raw Chicken. Disgusting, slimy, and for a dead piece of meat it can be quite wiggly. I can't touch it, it makes my skin want to shrivel and hide. Yes, I cook it, but I use tongs and a scrunched face until it is no longer raw. Strangely enough, raw meat doesn't really have the same effect on me. Unless I think about what I'm putting my hands in when I make meatloaf, if that thought enters my mind I turn vegetarian for at least a week.

I'm sure there are more, but I can't handle any more of these kinds of thoughts.