My life is legit ridiculous. I’m awake at 12:15 a.m. because there is a goddamned centipede loose in my bedroom. This is worse than the time I was awakened by the tickling of a fucking moth dancing on my forehead at stupid o’ clock in the morning. My fear of insects is extreme. Beginning in late May, and through the end of June (sometimes as late as the early weeks of July) I am indoors before nightfall because June Bugs are my arch nemesis.
I’m a weirdo. Weird things bother me beyond reason. I find soy sauce so sickening, I can’t even look at it. When dining at a Chinese restaurant, I have to cover the bottle of soy sauce with a napkin, lest I become physically ill. (However, eating so many egg rolls that I must eventually excuse myself to go vomit isn’t a concern of mine.) I’m out of control; the actual number of things I cannot abide is incalculable at 12-bastard-30 in the morning.
I can’t stop thinking about the centipede. In fact, I’m still making the face, and my teeth hurt from excessive clenching.
Insects. Gross. I remember the time I took my daughter to a butterfly exhibit, and the fuckers were just chilling all over everybody. Nicole loved it, but I had a nervous breakdown.
Speaking of nervous breakdowns…don’t put me anywhere within arms reach of a bird. Fuck those guys, for realz. I recently saw a commercial where an ostrich flies. I told my husband that if I ever saw an ostrich fly, I would piss my pants in legit terror.
Speaking of terror…don’t take me fishing. Once I went out with my (former) father-in-law, and a really gross, white, shiny, flopping motherfucker got loose on the boat. I cried because it touched my leg.
I’m ridiculous, folks. I seriously need to get my shit together, or I’ll be one of the first to die in the zombie apocalypse. Unless it’s a Shaun of the Dead situation. Then, and only then, I might stand a chance.