Am I even spelling that correctly? Aversions. Maybe I should use something easier, like repugnance. Either way, I have some serious loathings. I was reminded of what they were while flipping through the Walmart weekly ad mag. 3 of my biggest aversions lay on the same page. While Walmart itself is an unspoken aversion of mine (hello? TARGET!), it tends to carry large plastic toys (Aversion #1) - and lots of them. I'm not sure when this particular aversion began, but it wells up feelings in me I haven't experienced before. It must have begun when we moved (downsized) into our "cottage" - or "house" as it is formally called. Since it is hard enough to squeeze humans into this humble abode, the thought of large plastic accessories makes my skin crawl. We've had 3 sets of acquaintances drop off some hand-me-down LPA (large plastic accessories) while we weren't home on our doorstep. Meanness. Kitchens, ovens, refrigerators, you name it. And since they are labeled "tot size", one must not think the amount of room they take up seems much. However, the Akins cottage cannot hold em. I move them from our doorstep directly into the trunk and take them to Goodwill where they belong. I think maybe when we "upsize" to our next home, we'll build a loft filled to the brim with LPA for all the kiddies to enjoy. Just because we can. Until then...
Aversion #2: Clowns. I share this with my sister-in-law. Mom tried to start me a clown collection and all it did was give me nightmares that "It" from Stephen King was going to come after me in my sleep. So thank you, Walmart, for showing off your clown costumes. Only scary Chesters would want to buy them anyway.
And finally, the biggest of them all, Aversion #3: Feet. I don't even like writing the word. I'm serious. If there were medical things hooked to my heart and brain right now, they would be beeping out of control. This might require medication. And thanks to Walmart, I can see how Ashuanda's (store clerk) feet look in the open-toe slippers for $7.99. The closest I've come to a legitimate anxiety attack came on an airplane as a result of this aversion. No, the airplane wasn't experiencing turbulence. No, the oxygen levels remained in tact. No, the smell was manageable. It was Peter Passenger sitting right smack next to me. He was clothed in a t-shirt (acceptable), jeans (acceptable), and some stank nasty brown leather sandals with his toes crawling out the top. Did he keep his toes hidden under Polly Passenger's seat the whole time? Negative. He was a tall man who couldn't get comfortable and thought crossing his legs would help. It was a scene straight out of Planes, Trains and Automobiles and his "dogs" were in my direct line of sight. I already have to use the complimentary vomit bag on most flight occasions, but this one gave me no choice. I was hopeless. I did not get sick; however, some of the preemptive vomity coughs I made after downing a Ginger Ale sat him up a little straighter and leaning over to his other friendly neighbor. Hey, whatever works.
So, for Christmas, I think I'm going to ask for a life-sized plastic clown who's not wearing any shoes. Or maybe some sedatives in case that actually did happen.