My phobias are mind games that I can enjoy playing all by myself, just like solitaire.
As I grow older I find I prefer these sorts of head games to the kind that more actively involve other people.
This wasn’t always the case. My exes would all be happy to attest that I used to love to play Guess How You Fucked Up, which is perhaps more commonly known as Passive-Aggressive Charades. The object was simple. I would sulk in various poses (hands on hips, face in a book, fetal position etc.) and my companion would then guess at what he had done that day to upset me. It was fun, so I offered more than just one edition. For example, there was the Guess How You Fucked Up Deluxe Edition which featured 50% more sniffing. Or, the Guess How You Fucked Up Family Edition. The family edition required that before the game I’d called my sister who’d told me (Duh!) that I was absolutely right to be all sulky and pissy.
But, since those kinds of couples games tend to be detrimental to relationships, I try not to play them now.
No. These days when I get a hankerin’ to be nutty I seem to choose my phobias more often than not.
I’m a germophobe, first and foremost, with a few other phobias thrown in for good measure. And, let me tell ya, a hotel room offers up a veritable sm