_For Flashback Friday, and in honor of the opening of the Lexington Farmer’s Market.
(08/20/2009) There is the real me and the fantasy me. The fantasy me wakes up and does yoga every morning, then drinks fresh-ground coffee brewed in a French press pot, writes literary quality words every day from 10-4, an then has one glass of wine. On Saturday, she rides a pink beachcomber bike to the farmer's market to pick up tomatoes and cucumbers with which to make gazpacho. To bridge the gap between real me and fantasy me, I try to envision myself living the life I want. I make it through the yoga, coffee, writing, and wine, but when I try to vividly picture myself cycling downtown, I panic.
At first, I thought it was because I'm afraid of riding a bike. That's not it. I'm actually deathly afraid of farmer's markets. I know it's unreasonable, but I'm horrified that some little old couple in overalls is going to beat me with a painted gourd, and then kidnap me back to their farm to harvest honey. They make me sleep in a barn loft and occasionally sneak in during the night so the wife can do unspeakable things to me with homemade lye soap while the husband plays the dulcimer. I suffer from Hippieoranicaphobia, a fear of farmer's markets and those who vend there.
OTHER PHOBIAS I HAVE:
Alektorophobia- Fear of chickens.
Cyclophobia- Fear of bicycles.
Hypengyophobia or Hypegiaphobia- Fear of responsibility.
Tocophobia- Fear of pregnancy or childbirth.
PHOBIAS I WISH I HAD:
Methyphobia- Fear of alcohol.
Obesophobia- Fear of gaining weight.
Paraphobia- Fear of sexual perversion.
Hamartophobia- Fear of sinning.
(04/13/2012) I now have a bike named Zelda. But I still suffer from cyclophobia, and do not enjoy riding her. Each and every time I climb aboard, I can think of nothing but falling and skinning the nose off my face on the angry asphalt. So she sits, basket empty, waiting for me to take her out and fill it up with verdant vegetables. One day, I will. And though I have yet to fulfill the full fantasy, near the end of last year, I did go to the farmer’s market, and buy a bushel of half-runner beans and a bouquet of blooms for Frank’s Aunt Boo. She died soon after. Not that one has anything to do with the other. But, it is a reminder that life is too short for irrational fears.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.