It's not the idea of Jan Crouch moving next door to me and being forced to see faux Louis XIV furniture, ten foot velvet paintings of Jesus and boxes of bad purple wigs. It's not the kids who taunted me in High School and called me a geek, a snob or a fairy (One of them served me a burger at at Jack-in-the-Box last week). It's not even the idea of Global thermonuclear war.

I am afraid of slugs

Just the hint of an iridescent trial on the sidewalk and I begin to shiver. Seeing one of those one-inch common garden slugs makes me run for a container of morton's salt. The very idea of one of these repulsive mollusks writhing around in their own muculence makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and call for my mommy. Once, while camping amongst the redwoods, I saw a banana slug, it wasn't until several hours later that I stopped howling and gibbering like an extra from One Flew over the Cucko's Next.

Strangely enough, snails don't bother me at all. I'm passingly fond of escargot.