Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Wednesday has no lines on her chin.

Casey: So glad you’re back! I hope the tumult slows soon. Times like that can be quite tough.

Christina: Thanks for asking about my delightful girlfriend! I am, of course, more than happy to talk about her : ) We met (officially; we’d encountered each other a couple times before—one especially hindsight-awkward event will be outlined another time) through the theater fraternity that Cassie and I are both members of. She was my Big [read “club mentor”], and we hit it off like WHOA. She was the one who made me the Alot for our fraternity formal (written about here: I wrote that post almost exactly a month before we started dating. As of right now, we are four days shy of our three-month-iversary! She really is the most wonderful of all. Cassie can attest to this—they are best friends.

Also, excitement must be building for France! I can’t wait to hear about your travels!

Cassie: I had no idea of your fear of vampires! It makes sense, though. I don’t like doctors taking my blood, much less someone who had more sinister intentions of what to do with it… digestion, for example.

Alexandra: What a lovely video! Thanks so much for sharing! You two look so dang happy. I love it.

Also, happy almost-birthday!

Also, I’ve had some horrifying experiences with needles and poorly trained healthcare professionals before, too… it can be quite the traumatic experience indeed. I feel your pain, as it were!

Also, YOU SAW TOBUSCUS?? I’m a fan. Win. ::boulders crush competitors::

And now, on to my fears…

I’ve got your typical ones: I don’t care for spiders, I’d rather not fall to my death, I would like please to be successful in whatever field I actually choose to go into, I fear not choosing a field in time, etc. But I have another fear. One that is more… unreasonable.

Ventriloquist’s dummies.

It’s called automatonophobia, and it’s more broadly classified as the fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being. So, like, wax museums are a no-go for me. I had the chance to go to Madame Tussaud’s in London and turned it down. Hell to the no. But farrr, far worse than wax models (which can be kind of cool, when not en masse) are those dang ventriloquist’s dummies.

Especially the ones in suits, with the bowties, and that slicked-back black hair, and those eyes that shift back and forth… and the chin lines. For the love of everything good in this world, the chin lines.

Sidenote: I’m going to have to watch a good three episodes of Dr. Who to get my mind off writing this.

Anyway. There is a story about why I have this rather odd (but I think not entirely unusual) fear.

When I was about eight, I had a Woody doll, like from Toy Story. He had a pull string and a voice box and everything. He was one of my favorite toys, and he lived in—IN—my toy chest in—IN—my closet when I wasn’t playing with him.

One morning, I woke up to “Howdy pardner! My name’s Woody. You’re my favorite deputy! Someone’s poisoned the water hole! There’s a snake in mah boot!” I looked to my closet. Sitting on top of—ON TOP OF—my toy chest was Woody. Talking. Of his own accord.

Being a relatively precocious and unsuperstitious child, I was sure it wasn’t a matter of demon possession or anything like that. And I treated my toys well, so I knew it wasn’t a revolt, like the one against Sid in the movie. It was probably just a broken voice box combined with an oversight of room cleaning. Nevertheless, I didn’t go into my room for days. I slept on the couch and had my parents get anything out of my room I needed for day-to-day living.

Oddly enough, I have no problem with Woody himself these days. I can watch the Toy Story movies with fondness and no shivers of terror. It has somehow transferred to those awful ventriloquist’s dummies, with those awful chin lines…

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