There comes a point in every man’s life where he has to face his fears. One of my earliest memories is having a healthy fear of mannequins.
It should probably be said right now, that even though said fear came waaaaay before 1987’s Mannequin featuring Kim Cattrall, had I been about 15 years younger, that particular movie would have catalyzed the fear in question. I know this because I involuntarily retrieved those blacked out fears when I made the mistake of watching that movie in the theater while still sober.
*shudders*
As a subject to that fear in my toddler / preschool years, one thing I had noticed time and time again was that mannequins only appeared on carpeted floors in the department stores. They were never set up on the tile flooring. Being an early student of cause and effect (or affect, take your pick), linear thought, and other logical, common sense bullshit, I came to my own conclusion that if the mannequins were going to come get that little boy who would eventually be your favorite blogger in the whole wide world, they would have to do it while I was on the carpet. They weren’t allowed to step on the tiled floor.
I don’t ever remember having in incident in the department store with Mom or Dad where I refused to go on the carpet though. It’s possible I did some preliminary recon and made sure no mannequins were present before going into whatever area I was towed into.
*fart*
You’ll have to excuse me. I’m a little gassy tonight.
A new fear is creeping into my life ladies and gentlemen. It’s getting to where I’m going to have to find a happier place that generates more serenity for my psyche than that of Nacho Farm.
It’s that blasted sock monkey again.
Today, he was perched up on top of the sneeze guard in front of me in order to stare at me with that blinkless gaze that just throws my lower GI into a state of spasmastic flux. He continues to wield a knife as well. Today, he’s put his cape up over his head to represent a do-rag.
*fart*
Oh, pardon me.
Now tell me people. What sock monkey in his right mind perches himself up on a cube wall while wearing a do-rag, sporting a knife, and flaunting his sock monkey junk?
I’m thinking about bringing some mannequins in, just to ease the tension.
Perhaps, one of the alternatives would be to go out to YouTube and pull up the first soothing, middle of the road, the artist was just phoning it in, pop song from the 80’s that I find. That usually calms me down too.
You’ll have to excuse me. I think I’m going to have an immodia-moment here.
