Throughout my perusals of Pinterest I have come across many pins, the titles of which are something along the lines of:
30 things to ask your boyfriend/husband
15 questions to ask your fiance before getting married
Getting to know you: 23 great conversation starters
And so on and so forth.....
I've looked at a few of these because they all claim the same thing--they are new, interesting, great conversations starters and they are things you absolutely should know about your significant others. I can tell you that in my experience, all of these claims are full of $%!^. They all contain the same mundane questions.
What is your greatest fear?
What is your dream job?
What's your favorite color?
What are your strengths?
Describe your most embarrassing moment.
Ugh. Seriously? It's like an interview for a boyfriend/girlfriend. And I totally get that getting to know your significant other is important--it is vital--but not by setting down a list of 30 questions that you fire at the other person one after another. You spend time, you ask questions, you listen....over a period of months, not minutes.
Anyway. End rant.
The reason I bring this up is because while looking at one of these things today, I was confronted with the question, what are 3 legitimate fears and how did they become fears? My first issue was with the word legitimate. What makes a fear legitimate or illegitimate? Were the parents of said fear not married at the fear's conception? Fear is fear and yes, sometimes said fear is irrational--phobias for example--but it is still fear.
Personal example: Spiders.
I HATE spiders. I have a terribly irrational fear of spiders. I do not kill spiders myself, I call Chaz and have him come kill them for me. I will scream or squeal at a very high pitch whenever I see one. Depending on the size, I may run out of the room, flapping my hands like a crazy person. (The larger the spider, the more frenzied the flapping.)
Which leads me to a fairly hilarious story...
I was in the bathroom one day fixing my hair when I felt something itchy on my arm. I look down and there is a huge wolf spider on my arm. And when I say huge, I mean humongous. We're talking, larger than a half-dollar. Ginormous. So naturally, I let out an extremely loud, extremely high pitched scream. I swipe at my arm and come running out of the bathroom, dancing around on my toes like I was on a set of hot coals. Then the hand flapping started. Some pretty extreme hand flapping. Chaz comes running, thinking I've just sliced my wrists open or something, and is extremely irritated when he finds out that (in his words) it was just a spider.
Just a spider. NO. SUCH. THING.
He basically gives me a minor chewing out for scaring him half to death and then goes back to whatever he was doing. I, on the other hand, cautiously peek into the bathroom looking for this gargantuan spider that I have just flung off my arm. It is nowhere to be found. I look around the whole bathroom--this thing is gone. I'm freaking out because there is no way a spider that big just disappears and I have no fricking idea where the damn thing has gone.
After a few minutes, when there is no sign of this eight-legged thing, I decide to give it up and go back into the bathroom because I have to finish doing my hair. I walk into the bathroom, squirt some gel into my hands, raise my arms to start whisking the gel through my hair and finally raise my eyes to look into the mirror so I can see what I'm doing.
The damn thing is
IN. MY. HAIR!!!
My fricking hair!!!!
So rinse and repeat the whole screaming, flinging, dancing and hand-flapping routine. I come running out of the bathroom again, screaming again, Chaz comes running again. I'm practically hyperventilating because this monster of an eight-legged arachnid is going to eat me alive.
And when I finally calm down just a tad, I glance down and the spider is laying on the ground, dead. I have absolutely no idea how it is dead. I did NOT step on it--I know, because I was barefoot and I know I would have realized if I'd stepped on a massive spider half the size of my foot. Plus, it wasn't smashed, so I didn't step on it. Chaz did not step on it. I have no idea how the damn thing died. It's just dead.
I don't know why I was puzzling over the spider's death so much. I mean, I wanted it dead, obviously. And it's dead. Problem solved. But it's driving me nuts that I can't figure out how it died when there are no obvious signs to show how it died.
So I pose this question to Chaz, who standing there looking disgusted and annoyed, very matter-of-factly says, "Well, with all that ridiculous screaming and carrying on, you probably scared the poor thing to death." He then turned and left me standing there with the dead spider. My knight in shining armor.
Looking back now it's a great story to tell. People usually get a good laugh out of it. I, on the other hand, still get chills down my spine when I think of the huge-fricking-massive arachnid it my effing hair. Not. Ok.
Legitimate fear?
I leave that up to you to decide.
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