Irrational Fears

I got the inspiration for this post yesterday after thinking to myself, ‘What ever happened with D and I challenging each other on blog prompts?’ Most likely the demise came when he suggested a prompt that would take time and initiative and I said, ‘Yeah, well, good luck on that honey.’

 

I skimmed through the book to remind me which prompt it was that I said no to, when I came up to prompt number 40, Cower Before Us. Basically, list some irrational fears for the amusement of others.

 

‘I have no such fears,’ I immediately scoffed. But then I thought about my claim to hydrophobia which may or may not be acutely accurate, and thought, what else gets my goat. I went on with my day and then realized I do have a good one. It is completely, manically irrational, yet I still display pangs of lunacy when confronted with it. Here it is:

HATE

 

I hate, HATE those exploding tubes of dough. Sweet mother of pearl, do I.  I still had two tubes leftover from when I made that ring o’ goodness which I talked about here and thought that it would be a fine addition to tomato sauce and noodles. Which  means I had to get the damn things open. Usually I pawn this job over to J, telling him to be a man about it, but this time I was alone.

 

And what’s worse is that these were the fabulous Wal-Mart editions, notorious for not opening when you peel back the wrapping. As per usual, the cat was on the bar watching my culinary struggles. I eyed her, then the can. I hesitantly pulled ever…so… slowly… the wrapping away with my heard turned away, eyes shut, and using my non-writing hand. Completely bare down to the cardboard, I cranked up my neurosis by heaving it into the sink hoping it would explode by itself. No luck.

 

I then tried the other can. This one also would not open easily. I threw it into the sink, which thankfully let the can explode on contact. I jumped and gave a little yelp, which startled the cat, who in turn re-startled me by hearing her almost knock over the bar stools.

 

All this for some damn crescent rolls. I am such a goober.

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9 Responses to Irrational Fears

  1. Jessi says:

    (Thanks for stopping by my blog and commenting!)

    And I’m just the opposite. When I was younger, I used to beg my mom to let me open the cans. Sometimes they wouldn’t open and I’d bang them on the counter or table edge until they did. There was something satisfying about feeling it pop open in my hands, and then getting to peel back the cardboard to pull out the biscuits or croissant rolls. Hehe.

  2. E says:

    Oh, how I miss that pop. Although I really have no qualms about that popping package, I do know what you mean about the cheap Wally World biscuits not opening properly. I especially hate the times when you take off the entire upper layer without a pop, and you have to resort to more direct and potentially harmful methods. Ah, exploding pastry…

  3. thebutton says:

    *hugs ya and hands you a spoon* There is writing on the cardboard under the paper that is supposed to make it pop. But if it does not pop it says to press down gently with the back of a spoon. It works. Please don’t let it asplode in your mouth! 😛

  4. firewings says:

    Yes, I knew about the spoon usage, but that just means you have to get closer to the exploding packet of dough, metal, and cardboard. Plus now there is a flying spoon in the equation.

  5. thebutton says:

    But you said you bit it…how’s a spoon closer than your teeth? 😛 😉 Just messin’ with ya.

  6. The Rebuker says:

    Wow. I if I was a guy I’d hit on you and use the old “we have so much in common” line. I too hate the exploding dough cans.The spoon thing has never worked for me. I like it when they don’t open during the wrapper peeling phase: there’s too much surprise involved. If I have to hit the can on the counter, at least I know when to expect the explosion. I wonder if Pillsbury is aware of the potential psychological trauma brought on by their tubes of floury goo.

  7. […] and delved into the archives which led her to admitted to me that she also has a deep fear of the popping dough cans. I knew deep down that I could not have been alone on […]

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