It’s out there.
Let’s all just move on with our lives.
I am afraid of fish. I’m not ashamed to own up to this fear. The fancy word for this is “ichthyophobia”.
It all started when I was three or four years old. Back then, my family was living in Montrose on the east side of Michigan, and we had a goldfish named “Blacky”.
I believe my brother named him.
One night, I dreamt that I got out of bed to get some water. I went down to the kitchen, got my water, looked up at the goldfish tank while drinking, finished my drink, went back to my room, and got back into bed. Boring so far, right? But then… when I got back into the bed, it was filled with squirming goldfish, all flopping around out of water. It was the grossest thing that I could ever imagine, and remains so to this day.
From then on, I did not like fish.
Oh sure, I’ve tried to overcome my fear. I’ve been fishing on a handful of occasions. Of course, whenever I do catch one of the blighters, I end up hooking it through the eye.
I watched my brother’s fish tank for him when he went on a trip once. I told him up front that if any of his fish tried to jump out of the tank while I was feeding them, I would let the escapee die on the floor and the rest of the fish would starve because that would be the end of that. Fortunately, I don’t remember that happening, so everything turned out okay.
It is probably just as well that my wife and I don’t like seafood, because I can only imagine the mixed emotions I’d be feeling at eating fish regularly.
And don’t even get me started about how much I hate swimming in lakes, especially murky ones where all you can do is feel them touching your legs without seeing them do so.
I kid you not, I have shivered at least ten times already since starting to write this post. And so, I believe that it is time for me to end it.
Until next time, thank you for reading. And don’t get any smart ideas about taunting me with fish. Please.