Or, the wonderful thing about irrational fears is that you don't have to justify them.

I have never been ice skating. I am afraid that I will fall, my hand will be on the ice, fingers out, and a skate will come along and, cleanly slice my fingers off. Blammo. I figure, ice skates are sharp, people are moving fast, and that the blade is angled such that it would just run right through the fingers, leaving them severed and twitching on the ice, a pool of blood steaming on it.

Whenever the significant other talks about skating, I just make a motion with my hands--one lying flat, the other going over it like an ice skate, and then a flourish simulating my fingers flying off.

Someday, I will go--I figure kevlar gloves, or possibly chain mail, will probably be safe enough.

I happen to enjoy ice skating very much, but there have been several occasions when I have passed up the opportunity due to a variation on that same fear.

The difference is, I got good at ice skating before this thought ever crossed my mind. So I don't worry about falling down. Instead I picture myself skating along at a relatively high speed, and having someone (usually a little kid) fall into my path, hand outflung. Before I can react, *schhhhhik*, no more fingers. Or hand. Or neck. (The last is extremely improbable, I know, but tell that to my imagination.)

I'm going to go be depressed for a while now from thinking about this.

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