phobia

Everyone has a fear or a phobia, although most have a phobia towards a living "something" (i.e. - spider, cockroach, wasps, etc.). Mine, however, is broken glass.

This past weekend, the hubs and I ventured to a mall to buy me a new bike helmet. Yep, you read right. Me, buying a helemt. That can (and should) mean only one thing...my clumsy self will be attempting to ride a mountain bike! On dirt!

Anyhow, the hubs picked out a vibrant, hot pink helmet for me. And honestly, I just didn't care to find a different one. Any of you that know me personally, know that I don't truly like to stand out - especially in a sport that I have no experience in. Wearing a hot pink helmet just yells "hey, you really awesome rider over there, watch at me fall into that rocky cravese!".

When we were leaving the mall, I happened to step on a grassy curb and looked down to see broken shards of glass. Instantly, I was paralyzed in my spot...and I yelled. Not a yell so loud that others around us thought I might be dying, but loud enough to gain awkward stares. It felt as though my legs had turned from jello to concrete in a matter of milliseconds.

Knowing my fear, hubby kindly walked over and pointed out a path that would take me out of the valley of death and around the shards. Once we were in the car (and a second of welled eyes later), I had him look over my flippies (3 times) to make sure none of the pieces made it into the soles or the bottom of my feet.

For some people, they don't know where their phobia originates; mine, however, all stems from an emergency room visit and no sight of a promised ice cream treat if I didn't cry. And I didn't cry.