my irrational fear of electrical outlets.

This morning, due to my stepping through some bizarre rip in the space-time continuum, I was early for class. And so I unpeeled the layers of clothing that kept me from developing frostbite in the twenty degree weather on this second day of spring and prepared to have a seat on the floor. And that's when I saw it, right where I had been about to sit and lean against the wall.

An electrical outlet.

And so I had to move my stuff down a foot or two, so that I could lean against a part of the wall that did not lead to certain electrical peril.

It all stems from My Irrational Fear of Electrical Outlets, though I am not the one who decided to call it such. I think a much more suitable name would be My Entirely Rational Fear of Electrical Outlets, but as I seem to be in the minority on this point, we'll stick with the first.

My Fear of Electrical Outlets, irrational or otherwise, all comes from my impoverished childhood in the low mountains of Western North Carolina. And my parents, God bless them, they tried, but they could not provide all for their children. We did not have enough money to afford those little plastic covers that go on the electrical outlets after we paid the electric bill that made them necessary.

I don't remember any particular incident, just that there was one. I don't know if I stuck a knife in there or maybe just a tiny finger, but either way, after that first time, I didn't need a little plastic cover to tell me that I didn't want to be anywhere near those inviting and yet menacing little slots. Getting shocked hurts, as I could also tell you from equally terrifying and much more frequent electric fence incidents.

So I didn't even realize that there were others who would call my fear an irrational one until my late teens, when a friend came over to work on a project. She was just about to lean against the wall, against an electrical outlet, when I screamed and saved her life from a terrible fate. She thanked me by laughing at me. The same thing happened a couple of years later with Casey. He then proceded to terrorize me by holding on to my hand and putting his fingers on the outlet. I might have started crying.

From that traumatizing experience, I now understand that my fingers are probably too large to stick in far enough to get shocked. And I know that chances are highly unlikely that I would sustain an electric wound from leaning against the wall where an outlet makes its home. You hear me? I understand all that. But I still won't touch them or lean against them. That's why it's an irrational fear.

I really don't see what the big deal is. As far as irrational fears go, I think mine is pretty minor. It does not disrupt my daily life by preventing me from getting into foreign-made cars (well, maybe Korean ones) or keeping me from eating tomatoes on days that start with "T". It's just a little thing, just My Eensy Weensy Irrational Fear of Electrical Outlets.

Which is entirely rational.