Monday night around midnight after returning from Stiffelio, I logged on to facebook and saw an ambiguous posting by my daughter suggesting an impending procurement of pet rats. This is not a new desire of hers so I took it as fact and freaked out. I don't like rodents of any kind. Their nervous twitching sets off an unsettling anxiety in me and their random scampering offends my control issues. What Shelaine finds cute, I find repulsive.
I embrace my phobia. As a grandmother, I'm content accepting every fear I've yet to conquer. I've stretched and grown in every decade and after the fifth I'm holding steady. Like me or leave me!
Okay, that attitude comes with a price. The leave me premium. Shelaine's facebook post sent me into action. I had to attempt to avert this travesty. For me, a rat in the house was a dealbreaker. I wasn't sleeping under the same roof. I fired off an email threatening to call off all visits if the deed was done. And then I tumbled into despondent despair. What if she did it anyway? Was I really willing to give up seeing Elliott? How could I accomplish seeing him if I'd deemed the house off-limits. My mind raced and my spirits plummeted.
At 5:15pm on Tuesday Shelaine called: "You are so intense. I was just toying with the idea. I didn't know how strongly you felt. I'm not getting rats." Whew. Status Quo restored. Momentary lapse of sanity retreating. Equilibrium on the rise.
After recovering from the accusation of being intense, I dutifully packed up my fear and tucked it behind my outer layers of calm, cool control where it will hover on the fringes until the next unexpected outburst. I'd work on exorcising it but it's a decade too late. Rats!
1 comment:
I, too, have an unshakeable rat phobia. I am so glad she changed her mind!
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