WoRmS....

It has been a bit rainy here as of late and it brings a sort of anxiety to my life.... let me explain. This is something I wrote a little while ago but deeply describes my feelings and I'd like to share it with you.

Scholeciphobia. It’s a real word. It means “fear of worms.” I have that. To many citizens of this great planet we live on, my very real fear of worms is amusing. To me…. It is not! It’s not just that they are “yucky” or “squirmy” or other wise immaturely described, it is an actual phobia. I’ve never been more afraid of anything that I’ve encountered than that of a worm. I understand the reasons for such a creature to exist here, however I do not believe that it is necessary for my personal survival to ever have to come into contact with the creepy crawlies. Unfortunately, I have been unable to avoid the little dirt lovers my whole life. The following are examples as to why it’s not a good idea to expose me to encounters of their kind.
1. Just picture it, I’m at the very fragile age of fourteen. As a part of my free ride as a member of the Elmer family, I’ve been assigned chores! The whole family is outside weeding and mowing and otherwise caring for the lawn. I’m minding my own business with two pairs of gloves on (to avoid any and all contact with the aforesaid worms) my beloved brother Ellis decides that the most appropriate thing to do with the large quantities of worms he’s collected is to bring them near me. He managed to make me quite skittish to see the little things coming near me and wiggling through his fingers. That was not the goal however, what is the fun in seeing someone become edgy around a bunch of harmless creatures? No fun! So Ellis proceeds to throw the handful of worms down my shirt. (If you’ve never seen anyone throw an actual conniption fit this is the very definition of it!) Unfortunately, I was a blossoming young women and was wearing the under attire of such … okay forget it, I was wearing a bra! The worms had somehow become stuck in my bra. Front and back! I ran inside with no regard to anyone around me and haphazardly ripped my shirt off my body. Of course I couldn’t just let them wiggle around in my under things. I had to remove the worms. I had to actually TOUCH them and pull them away from my body. Mind you I’m still screaming and crying hysterically at this point. Somehow I managed to remove the offending organisms and cast them around the room (I didn’t care where they went as long as they were no longer on me!) Fortunately I put a shirt back on before I went outside and proceeded to run after my sniveling brother to get even. It was pointless though because there was no way to adequately return the gesture. Moral of the story, I would never survive on the show Fear Factor.
2. My friend invited me to go fishing with her family. I didn’t mind fishing. I usually bring along a book and get a suntan. Now and then I would cast a line to TRY to catch a fish that I had no intention of actually keeping or let alone eating. One of the prerequisites of the trip was that I had to bait my own hook. “Okay,” I thought, “No big deal… I’ll use that cheese or marshmallow stuff.” When we got to the lake, I realized that the only bait they brought was, you guessed it, worms. I tried to act nonchalant (I didn’t want everyone to find out about my Scholeciphobia) and that I no longer wanted to fish. But I felt like I was being ungrateful and rude to not fish on a fishing trip, so I adorned myself with big gloves and some wire cutters (that’s all I could find to pick up the worm) and a hook. I grasped the little guy with the wire cutters gently as to not cut him in half…. Snip. Oops, now my one worm is now two halves. Oh well. I’ll just pick up one of the halves, snip again. Ooop. Now what do I do? Just try to be more gentle this time with the…. Snip again. OH NO! Now the poor little worm is cut into about 19 pieces. That’s okay. I laid all the pieces on the ground and threaded my hook through all of the miniscule parts. There, I did it, I baited my hook with a worm. I was so proud. However, my happiness was dampened by the looks of pure horror on the faces of the fishing party. I had mutilated it to an unrecognizable extent. Now, looking back, I feel bad for the poor little guy. Oh well, the fish was just going to eat it anyway, right?