My Phobia

I have a phobia. Like a real one that makes me do crazy things that no normal person would do. It's not the fear of heights, people, or spiders. I have a serious fear of alligators and crocodiles. I mean, a SERIOUS FEAR of alligators and crocodiles.

I have never lived in a place where either alligators or crocodiles are indigenous. I technically have never had anything to fear. However, this does not keep me from taking anti-crocodile measures. For example, if I can help it (and I usually can) I don't take baths or showers in lower level bathrooms. Because, you know, you never can tell when a rogue crocodile will be lurking in the two inch pipes that lead up to your shower. In my mind, they are incredibly resourceful. This worked great for me when we lived in Utah, as our house had a basement, and there was no need to worry. This also works great for me in Texas, where all of our bathrooms are on the second story. This does not work so well for me when I go to visit my in-laws or my parents, where I have to shower in the basement. Let's just say I can shower very, very quickly if I need to.

Another anti-crocodile technique that I use: I never, NEVER, NEVER go swimming in the deep ends of pools. Because, again, you never can tell when a rogue crocodile will have picked your pool to take a nap in. This was true even when I lived in Las Vegas, where no wild crocodile has ever been spotted. My parents have a lovely pool, but I stay in the shallow end. This has become less noticeable now that I have children, because everyone thinks that I just am staying close to them because I'm so protective. I know the truth, though. I am really avoiding the crocodiles that lurk in the drain.

When we take our kids to the zoo, I'm not even tempted to look in the crocodile cage. You will see me steer completely around it with whatever child happens to be in the stroller at the moment. You never can tell when a rogue crocodile will give that Plexiglass a nasty whip with his tail and decide it's time to eat that lady pushing the stroller.

Where does this bizarre phobia come from? I have a distinct memory of watching a show when I was really young that I think had something to do with it. I believe it was creatively titled Alligator! and it was in the same genre as Arachnophobia, and Snakes on a Plane. Here's the gist: an alligator wrestler (I know, who knew this career path existed?) gets angry because a friend of his gives his daughter a baby alligator as a pet. In his rage, he FLUSHES it down the TOILET! Well, of course, alligators are resilient, and so for fifteen or twenty years, this alligator not only survives but THRIVES in the city sewage system. It emerges one day to eat the bride at a wedding ceremony. It emerges another day (into a neighborhood swimming pool) to eat a birthday boy. They finally free the city from the alligator's predatory ways by blowing it (and half of the sewage system) to bits with huge amounts of dynamite. I believe I was four when I saw this movie, and it has dramatically changed my life, I think for the better. Because, you know, I will never be the one who is eaten by the rogue crocodile, thank you very much, because I have taken all the necessary steps to prevent it.

Of course, I've told my four-year old daughter that I'm not such a fan of alligators and crocodiles. But if you ask her what she wants to be when she grows up, she'll say, "An alligator scientist." To me, that's a real clue that it's time to rent Alligator! just to give her a realistic picture of what her future might look like. And as an anti-crocodile measure for myself. Because who knows when she'll bring home a rogue crocodile? Ah, well, if she does, I'll just flush it down the toilet. . .