I don’t know when it happened. This whole me-being-a-scaredy-cat thing. It seems to have gradually snuck up on me. I’m not fearless and I really don’t like being scared.
I can’t watch scary movies. It’s not fun. I don’t dig it. In fact, Scream is about as scary as I could handle. Texas Chain Saw Massacre? Couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t. That panicky feeling that I get from watching a suspense-filled movie? Can’t cope.
Can’t do rollercoasters. Can’t even do the spinning teacups. Got so panicked on the teacups that my Kid started screaming and crying. Thought I was going to diieeee on the Log Ride at Gold Reef City. May have even peed myself a little and definitely had a little sob once the ride was over.
I don’t like being scared. I don’t know if it’s a since-I’ve-been-a-mom thing, or a since-forever thing, but honestly – I don’t get why people PAY MONEY to be scared. I don’t wanna.
I reached an all-time cowardly low this morning. Am actually snorting hysterically (read: panicked laughter) as I think about it. I walked down the passage to discover The Toffee playing on the rug. He was quiet, content and very absorbed in what he had in his hand. I looked closer. It had legs and feelers.
IT WAS A PARKTOWN PRAWN*, YOU GUYS. He had it IN HIS HAND.
I did the only logical thing I could think of. I screamed and ran. I shrieked so loud that my husband came running, convinced that the end of the world was nigh. Or something. I shrieked so hard that my Kid started screaming and burst into tears, too. I can’t remember what I shrieked at my husband – UUUUUUUUGH IT’S A PARKTOWN PRAWN. AAARGH. TRAVIS IS TOUCHING IT. AAAARGH (was probably it) but he calmly removed the offensive creeper from The Toffee’s hand and deposited it safely outside.
The Toffee was pissed he’d had his toy taken away, and The Kid needed a hug to calm down and my husband was once again completely gobsmacked at what a bangbroek (scaredycat) pansy he’d married.
I didn’t even hang around to watch my husband remove the bug from the house – I’m always too scared he’s going to think it’s funny to chase me around with it, and that he might (HEAVEN FORBID) throw it at me and it MIGHT TOUCH ME.
It would seem my maternal instinct to protect my children does not extend to Parktown prawns. Or amusement park rides. Hell no. In these circumstances, it’s every man (woman and child) for himself.
SCARY SHIT. I JUST CAN’T DO IT, YO.