Confession #2
9:38 PM Edit This 0 Comments »Irrational Fear of Mickey Mouse
When I was young, I had a wonderful, peaceful bedroom with hardwood floors, my pink quilt crocheted by my grandmother, and shelves of barbies all set up "just right" as my OCD was already firmly in place as a small child. I had a beautiful desk with stationary, stamps, and stickers. I had all kinds of cool toys, majority of which were entrapped in my nice wooden toy box in the corner. Sitting on top of my toy box was my giant stuffed Mickey Mouse (that sometimes looked at me a little funny.)
Across the room, way across the room, in the far opposite corner of the room sat my baby buggy. My cool mini buggy to stroll my baby dolls around. It was plastic and pink and the wheels had very nice cream colored daisy flower designs on them. It was absolutely fabulous. However, one day, to my absolute horror, one of the wheels came off of the buggy. Wheels had come off of my little doll stroller before, but never in this manner. Whenever a wheel might have came off before, it was always in such a way in which it would snap right back on. This was not the case this time and all was lost.
I went to bed very forlorn with my buggy in the FAR corner and Mickey on top of my toy box in the OPPOSITE FAR corner. When I awoke the next morning, Mickey Mouse was sitting next to my fully functional pink plastic baby doll buggy.
AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Now, I have heard the stories about how my mom must have came in to fix the buggy while I was sleeping. If you know my mom, you would understand that she would never go out of her way to make me happy. So then you are thinking, she must have done it out of spite to scare the shit out of you. Perhaps, but I doubt my mother's creativity in this endeavor. As the only dinner that I had growing up that was not fast food was a meal of canned fruit with toast, I say to you, my mother could not have pulled this off.
Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that Mickey Mouse came to life to fix my baby buggy. Now while his intentions must have been grand and possibly he went forth with love in his heart, it still freaks me the f**k out that my stuffed animal came to life.
Again, I know what you are thinking. IF, and only IF I insist that my stuffed Mickey Mouse came to life than he did a noble thing for me and I should be grateful. I should feel privelaged that the land of fancy came to life for me and I was let in on the secret of how OF COURSE all dolls and stuffies come to life when you leave the room.
I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THIS!! I am forever scarred and to this day I live with an irrational fear of Mickey Mouse.
When I was young, I had a wonderful, peaceful bedroom with hardwood floors, my pink quilt crocheted by my grandmother, and shelves of barbies all set up "just right" as my OCD was already firmly in place as a small child. I had a beautiful desk with stationary, stamps, and stickers. I had all kinds of cool toys, majority of which were entrapped in my nice wooden toy box in the corner. Sitting on top of my toy box was my giant stuffed Mickey Mouse (that sometimes looked at me a little funny.)
Across the room, way across the room, in the far opposite corner of the room sat my baby buggy. My cool mini buggy to stroll my baby dolls around. It was plastic and pink and the wheels had very nice cream colored daisy flower designs on them. It was absolutely fabulous. However, one day, to my absolute horror, one of the wheels came off of the buggy. Wheels had come off of my little doll stroller before, but never in this manner. Whenever a wheel might have came off before, it was always in such a way in which it would snap right back on. This was not the case this time and all was lost.
I went to bed very forlorn with my buggy in the FAR corner and Mickey on top of my toy box in the OPPOSITE FAR corner. When I awoke the next morning, Mickey Mouse was sitting next to my fully functional pink plastic baby doll buggy.
AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Now, I have heard the stories about how my mom must have came in to fix the buggy while I was sleeping. If you know my mom, you would understand that she would never go out of her way to make me happy. So then you are thinking, she must have done it out of spite to scare the shit out of you. Perhaps, but I doubt my mother's creativity in this endeavor. As the only dinner that I had growing up that was not fast food was a meal of canned fruit with toast, I say to you, my mother could not have pulled this off.
Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that Mickey Mouse came to life to fix my baby buggy. Now while his intentions must have been grand and possibly he went forth with love in his heart, it still freaks me the f**k out that my stuffed animal came to life.
Again, I know what you are thinking. IF, and only IF I insist that my stuffed Mickey Mouse came to life than he did a noble thing for me and I should be grateful. I should feel privelaged that the land of fancy came to life for me and I was let in on the secret of how OF COURSE all dolls and stuffies come to life when you leave the room.
I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THIS!! I am forever scarred and to this day I live with an irrational fear of Mickey Mouse.
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