I used to have two things that drove me nuts. Some call them phobias? A metal Rake on concrete was as bad as fingernails on a chalk board. Spiders. Spiders were my nemesis, I couldn’t touch one on a page. I outgrew those as I aged, gracefully I might add.

As adulthood overtook me, I discovered another strange quirk. “Light-bulbs when they blow out.”

I have tried to diagnose this reaction, or fear, of bulbs that go out. Generally they go out with a brilliant flash of blue, sometimes accompanied by a popping sound. Some bulbs expire gracefully, with just a quick dimming to nothingness.

Is it an ancient primal fear of lightning striking my caveman ancestors? Whatever it is always, always, results in me jumping half out of my skin. Sometimes dropping whatever I have in my hands and uttering a couple not so nice words (colorful metaphors). Michelle thinks this is humorous if she is nearby.

So if someone ever wanted to make me talk, all they would need is a bank of light bulbs that can be rigged to blow out, one at the time on demand. I’ll sing like a Canary.

Comments welcome,