ode to a fear

I walk into the room and my eyes immediately fixate on the bowl that lies before me. My nostrils flare at the overwhelming tangy scent. I gag. I stare at the bowl's contents as if it is about to attack. Its shape offends me. How could one consume such a thing? I continue to circle the table hosting this bowl of yellow and brown substance. I can't get too close. A gust of wind pushes through the door forcing the already strong scent to rise to an unbearable level. My throat tightens. My eyes water. I want to breathe but the scent is too strong. I fear my mouth may taint from the stench.

I see someone reach for one. She reaches with such ease, such complacency.   She starts from the top and begins to slowly peel, peel, peel away. The skin flops lifelessly on either side of her fist. She gropes the item in a sexual manner. How else does one hold something in the shape of a penis? The stringy membrane hangs around the edges making it all the more horrible to watch. I can see by looking at it that it is soft, yet firm–a horrible texture. I notice a mark. My sense of panic heightens. Is she going to eat that?

As she lifts the piece to her mouth my stomach churns and clenches. She bites down and chews with ease. She swallows and opens up for more. Bite by bite this thing goes down, all the while I am in the final throws of insanity as I watch this act of consummation. I can see the pieces she has bitten push up onto the inside of her cheeks, rotating around her mouth.

Finally, she pinches up the last piece and places it on her tongue that quickly slips back into her mouth. With skin still in hand she waits until the final piece is swallowed. I feel anxious at the thought of where this peel will end up. Slipping on it is the least of my problems. If it comes near me I will go into anaphylactic shock. She walks toward me. I flinch. As she passes me I jump back. My fingers pinch my nostrils to block the smell. My skin crawls and my flesh gooses. Her foot plonks down on the bin pedal opening up the bins mouth. She casually drops the peel. It makes a sufficient plop as it drops to the bins bottom.

I couldn't bear to open that bin now. It is tainted. Infected. Filled with something my heart will never desire to touch. Never hope to eat. Never wonder to try. Goodbye banana. 

Yes, it is true. I have bananaphobia. I cannot stand the taste, smell, texture, feel , shape or thought  of bananas. I can barely type the word. You may find it strange, yet it is in fact rather common (well I know two people for sure who aren't a fan - that's good enough for me ).

Being bananaphobic has added a new dynamic to many of my friendships and relationships. My friends get much thrill out of chasing me around with a banana in their hands. A boyfriend of mine once thought it funny to come at me from behind with one and successfully managed to make me think it was his. My aunt has photographed me with one on my chest while I was sleeping and  my sisters never fail to fence me with one. All of the above bring me to tears.

For more on the topic: http://www.fearofbananas.org/