I’m a fan of horror films: they remind me that things could always be worse, and if everything goes to pot I’m safe in the knowledge that I haven’t yet had to saw off my own foot. My late night decision to watch Mia Farrow and her fabulous pixie cut get knocked up by the devil always comes back to haunt me though: anytime my best friend abandons our place of residence for the week I’m left feeling like Drew Barrymore and the remains of her burnt popcorn.
Sure, there are perks to being in the house alone: just this morning I peed with the door open and danced around the kitchen in my underwear listening to Demi Lovato: I’m sure the neighbours loved that. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet developed a fool-proof plan to deal with the killer spiders that everyone on Facebook insists on posting about multiple times a day.
I’ve tried almost everything, from locking said spider in the kitchen and deciding this is the month I’m going to go on the ‘I can’t get to the fridge’ diet, to jumping over the sofa, screaming and hoping the mere sound of my voice sends every spider in the vicinity running for miles: nothing seems to work! I’ll just have to implement the only spider capturing method that’s ever really worked for me: asking a stranger from the flat upstairs to do it instead: Neve Campbell would be so proud.
Just about everything scares me: I hate wasps, spiders, heights and the dark. Even at the age of 23 I still check underneath my bed and in my wardrobe in case a ghost faced killer decides to stab me in my sleep. Unfortunately, my irrational fears have been heightened as of late: going from living in a town over-populated with charity shops and the elderly to living in the city can be a tricky transition.
As a wild twenty-something with a thriving social life I decided to turn down the thousands of offers from potential suitors wanting to wine and dine me in favour of the sofa and a double G&T. In fact I was in the middle of an intense session stalking pictures of Emma Watson on Tumblr when I hear a noise: creaking and banging. My immediate thought was something along the lines of: “Oh god, I’m going to die before I find out whether Alicia chooses Will.” After internally-combusting for at least 10 minutes and checking the peep hole for a gang armed with knives ready to strike I realised that I would have absolutely no idea how to get myself out of a life-threatening situation if one were to occur.
I can barely chop an onion or pour a glass of wine without shaking so chances are if I was in The Hunger Games I’d immediately die by tripping over my own feet and cracking my head open on a rock. I may be the girl who hides under the covers after hearing a door slam but at least I’m not the type investigate a strange noise and asks: “who’s there?” If anyone would like to join me I’m going to the Winchester for a nice cold pint and waiting for all of this to blow over.
Posted in General, humour
Tagged emma watson, fear, funny, horror, humor, humour, phobia, shaun of the dead, the hunger games, tumblr