Well, actually, I can handle the truth.  Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, right?  But that (and a sex change) doesn’t make me Superman.

Falling under the category of Things I Just Can’t Handle:

  • Spiders.  I don’t do too badly with the smallish ones, unless they crawl up behind me while I’m sitting somewhere and an incredibly helpful person suddenly blurts out, “Okay,  don’t panic, but there’s a small spider on the wall behind you.”  I might be able to keep my butt planted in that chair through sheer force of will, but you can bet my head will whip around like I’m that girl in the Exorcist.  (Now watch me whip!  Now watch me nae nae.)
  • Spiders.  (Yes, again.)  The medium to large to extra large ones are an automatic No-Go in my book.  Extreme hairiness bumps them up the oh-my-god-get-that-thing-away-from-me chain at an exponential rate.  Shoot, if I find an extra large, super hairy spider camped out anywhere in my house I might just cordon off the room and give it squatter’s rights.  ‘Cause, you know…spiders.
  • Bugs in my car while the vehicle is in motion.  Any type of bug is a distraction really, but the flying ones are particularly bad.  Because once something airborne has shot past your face while you’re going 60mph your car becomes what one might call a target rich environment.  All senses are heightened, and suddenly every flicker out of the corner of your eye sets off the Danger, Will Robinson sensors.  (Random Lost in Space reference. Google it, young folks.
  • What makes the bug thing a million times worse?  Replace “flying bug” with “stinging insect.”  There’s nothing quite like blindly searching for a defensive shield (hello, pizza flyer I keep forgetting to take into the house) while desperately trying to maintain speed and avoid sideswiping the car in the next lane.  Lord, deliver me from bees, yellow jackets, and wasps that get trapped in my car.  Amen.
  • Giant, pus-oozing sores.  Gross.  ‘Nuff said.
  • An overwhelming stench from mildewy, smelly boy clothes that have been shoved in the back of a closet for a week.
  • The eye watering, stomach turning, paralyzing stink rising off a dog that’s rolled in scat. Times a thousand when you add the wet dog smell while trying to scrub it off.