When I was in elementary school I knew this guy who had a bubble on the top of his head that resembled the cheese bubble on a slice of pizza, but not as appetizing to look at. Anybubble, he would come to school reeking of syrup and everything he touched had globs of syrup on it – desks, pencils, chalk…you get the picture. I remember one time during lunch I sat down to feast on the congealed feast for the day, “spaghetti” and as I picked up my fork noticed there was syrup on my hands and on that syrup was furry dust bunnies and a congregation on a variety of hair. I washed and washed and washed my hands, but the sickening sweet smell of syrup would not be ignored. So I ate the spaghetti with the smell of syrup and the images of blobby pieces of skin on scalps and uncleanliness clouded my brain.The boy eventually had the bubble removed, but by then the connection between sticky syrup and blobby pieces of skin was already deeply etched in my psyche.
The phrase “A storm's a brewin” makes me cringe in fear.
My mom is from coast of Mississippi, she has been through a few tornadoes and one violent hurricane by the name of "Camille" and she's very wary to this day, not of just thunderstorms, but bouts of rain. Growing up in Central Texas there are many conditions that come together create ear-busting thunderstorms, and this caused great distress for my mom. Any time a downpour began my mom would take post on the front porch and stare at the clouds. If she had to take a bathroom break she would turn to me or one of my siblings and say, "Watch that cloud. That cloud don't look right to me," and then point out to some grey mass out in the distance. If her internal barometer told her a storm was going to be bad, she would announce a "storm's a brewin" and then require the family to gather in the main living area, turn off the lights, get off all phones, refrain from taking showers and insist we take a candle with us if we needed to use the bathroom. Then at 5 minute intervals tune into KXAN to check to see what the weatherman on was saying. And when the thunder would shake the house she’d whisper, “God’s beating his wife.” My mom was and is hours of entertainment, but the phrase makes me superstitious of things to come.
Women who use baby voices with their sons, boyfriends or husbands.
I recently went out on a double date with a new couple. They were nice people, funny even. The night started great. We had dinner, drank some wine and then decided to have a night cap at a nearby bar. As we sat discussing current events and sipped our drinks the woman began to talk in baby talk to her boyfriend. I won't go into the details, but the words "lovey,” “wobbie" and “kissy” was used, followed by smooching air noises. Now, maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was my queasy tummy, but I suddenly had diarrhea of the mouth, blurting "that's disgusting" before my brain was aware. (Tends to happen a lot, see Sisterly Oaths) I'm all for public displays of affection, but baby talk ladies to a grown man? You think your man is enjoying that...in public? So if you go on a double date with me, I encourage you to eat heartily and drink merrily, but please for the love of God, leave the baby talk at home...unless you're holding a baby while petting a puppy. Thank you.
The children’s song “Ring Around The Rosies” makes me have nightmares.
Any song that could have possibly been based on the various stages of bubonic plague, aka Black Death, is a song I want to hear from small, innocent children who are smiling while joyously spinning in a circle. “Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down!” makes me want to pull my covers over my head and pray that Freddie Kruger will bust into the room and end my misery.
Kudos Trace...I think the witches are at you.
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