Phobia

Phobias. Everyone's got 'em. An irrational fear of something. And today I came face to face with mine.

So what is it that turns your normally brave and adventurous narrator into a quivering pile of girly screaming jelly?

Death? No, I like being alive but I'm not afraid to die.
Public speaking? Makes me nervous, but that is all.
Spiders? Nah, we're cool. I've killed red backs and white tails without so much as a squeal (though disposing of the bodies is another story altogether...)
Heights? Nope, I'm not the person with the white knuckles gripping the rail.
Balloons? No, I'm quite fond of balloons.
Clowns? I never read that particular Stephen King book...

Bees. Bees scare the fuck outta me. Bees and wasps.

I don't know why these little honey makers fill me with sheer panicky terror. I'm not allergic to them (and if I was, it wouldn't be a phobia, it'd just be sensible). I've been stung enough to know its not the end of the world. Nevertheless, I am absolutely terrified of these little creatures. Over the years I've gotten a bit better with bees. I know they won't sting me unless provoked, so I can generally control myself enough to not shriek and duck for cover and wet myself. Wasps...I generally freeze, turn white, and start dripping big beads of sweat until they fly off or whoever is around me goes "Oh for fuck sake!" and gets rid of them for me.

I haven't had any close encounters with bees or wasps in quite some time. Long enough that I was starting to wonder if maybe my phobia of them is more habitual than genuine. Oh no, it's genuine!

I was walking home from the grocery store this afternoon, listening to my ipod, lost in my thoughts, when I something on my shirt caught my eye. Closer inspection revealed that A BEE was sitting on my boob! It looked happy enough, sitting there, having a rest, enjoying the breeze blowing over it's horrible furry body. Meanwhile, I was coming to terms with the fact that my worst fear was sitting on my boob and I was gonna have to deal with it on my own.

My first instinct, I shit you not, was to just get the fuck outta my shirt and run like hell. Not run like hell because I would then be standing on my street in the middle of the afternoon in my bra, but run like hell to get away from the shirt, which I would never, ever, ever come back for. But I had my headphones in and if I pulled my shirt off, it would've got stuck in them. So, with my shirt halfway off my back, I changed strategies.

I tried to shake it off my shirt, praying that this wouldn't result in it flying up into my face as then I would have burst into tears and started pleading with God to spare my life (again, not allergic to bees). The bee, for it's part, sought out less shaky ground and started crawling it's way up my shirt, towards my face. Again, my shirt almost came off, and I started pleading, out loud, with the bee to please, please just get off of me.

The thoughts rushed through my head: "Why did this have to happen to me when I'm all by myself? Lady Cop is meant to be protecting me from this very fate! Damn her for not being here! Look, it wouldn't be the end of the world to just leave the shirt and the groceries and whatever else behind to get away from this bee. Who cares who sees me?"

I had about 5 seconds to get the bee off my shirt before I said "fuck it" and got the shirt off of me. I grabbed a stick off the ground and bent down so I was close to the ground, gave the bee a flick, and resumed breathing. It was off. And with any luck, it was too confused about what had just happened to be angry with me. I grabbed my groceries and headed home, shaking like a leaf and hyperventilating. Seriously, I didn't shake that much when I got mugged.

Do I feel braver for having successfully confronted my biggest fear? HELL NO! It was AWFUL and I can assure you I will be just as big of a panic stricken baby if it ever happens again. All I can say is thank goodness I live in Australia where any passers by would likely assume I had a rather deadly spider on my shirt and that my reaction was quite sensible.