Can I just say something weird? I feel like we know each other so well, Internet, and by virtue of our longstanding relationship, I feel like I can tell you things and you won’t judge me. Too much.
So here I go, telling you the weird thing that I need to tell you right this very moment: I am terrified of moths. Terrified. I know that there’s some cutesy little story about how moths used to be butterflies, but they gave up their colors to save a rainbow one day and blah blah blah, moths are very nice giving creatures.
Whatevs. They scare the hell out of me.
I used to hold it (and by “it”, I mean the pee) all the live long night at summer camp as a child because 10,000 moths would congregate in the bathroom and have a fiesta, covering the emergency lights like quivering fur lampshades. I would rather cramp up and die than go into the camp bathroom at night.
I once broke several light bulbs on our dining room chandelier when I decided to take matters into my own hands and be rid of the moths, by way of a fly swatter in my tennis arm. My mother was not too pleased with this development. “Development” being a nice word for “shards of glass all over the dining room,” but I tried to explain to her how moths make me behave in irrational ways. Kind of the way I make my mother behave sometimes, so you’d think she would understand…
And I almost passed out one night last week – this is recent people, so pay attention – when I was sitting on the back deck reading and I felt a funny fluttering on my sternum. Not the good fluttering, mind you, like when you see a hot man specimen or when you get the Pottery Barn catalogue on the same day as the Anthropologie catalogue, but a physical fluttering. I looked down to see a moth casually flexing its wings betwixt my bosoms. Yes, I think it’s safe to say my shit was flipped that night. As anyone within hearing distance can attest.
And now, as I write this very blog entry, there is a moth flitting and traipsing about near the ceiling fan, all the while starting to lower his malicious self toward the bright, hypnotic screen of my beautiful MacBook.
This will not do.
Will you save me?
PS – I once read somewhere (in a legitimate and scholarly publication, no doubt) that Tyra Banks is scared to death of dolphins. Those happy jumping geniuses of the sea. At least I know I’m not the only whackadoo with a fear of something strange. What are you most afraid of?
PPS – You better comment, even if I don’t know you. People are reading this site, so de-lurk yourselves at once! Unless the thing you’re most afraid of is commenting on strange web sites. In which case, I completely understand.
PPPS – Thank you.