"Oh, hey, Lilly! Lilly, listen, down at the expo hall they're having a kitchenware show. So, ya wanna go? Great! I could really use some new knives, and maybe some pots and pans n' things. Oh my God! No, nothing's wrong, Lilly. I was just reminded of a story! Let's see, now how did it go...
...David had been aichmophobic as long as he could remember. Knives, needles, scissors, even exceptionally sharp pencils. They all made him feel uncomfortable, and jumpy. He even had a beard he was not particularly fond of because the idea of bringing a razor blade close enough to his face to give himself a clean shave freaked him out too much. Hell, he had never even learned how to shave.
To give you an idea of where David’s mind went when he thought about blades, we’ll paint you a picture of what was a regular occurrence during David’s childhood.
It is a peculiar habit of certain children to, while bored in school, take a pair of scissors, put their finger through one of the bows (a.k.a. Scissor-finger-holes) and whirl the scissors around their finger.
When David saw one of his peers engaging in the activity, what went through David’s head was that the scissors were probably going to go through his head. More specifically, he was worried they would slide up the person’s finger, eventually launching off the finger tip, to go sailing through the air and by some horrifying combination of variables manage to get themselves pointed in David’s direction, and then get him right in the eyeball. No matter how many times David told himself that that was extremely improbable, he could not get himself to ignore the fact that it was possible.
No matter how many times he tried he could not figure out what one experience lead him to have this irrational fear. He had never had any unfortunate injury involving a blade or needly. He couldn’t even pinpoint an injection that was remarkably traumatizing. In fact, outside of the doctor’s office, David had never even been allowed to touch a needle, or anything sharper than a butter knife until he was eighteen. David’s mother was what you would call, a bit overprotective.
He supposed his phobia could have something to do with the shrill, piercing sound of his mother sharpening her preferred utensil while he was trying to sleep as a child.
It could also originate from the screams that would soon follow that sickening, grinding sound. Like chasing down an utterly disgusting meal with expired milk. But David figured that such a regular occurrence couldn't be to blame. It was normal, just another part of life.
When he questioned his mother about where his fear might have come from, she admitted that, when he was very young and she couldn't find a babysitter, she would occasionally take him along to purchase her work tools. She apologized, saying that was probably it. David put his hand on his mother’s shoulder to comfort her. She shouldn’t blame herself, She had always been such a wonderful mother.
David’s grandfather on the other hand had been a simply awful parent. David’s mother hated talk about him, and David didn’t force her to. She told him he was awful, and that was enough. David had always thought his mother was a true saint when she bothered to drag herself to his grandfather’s funeral. He had died suddenly in his sleep, David’s mother had told him all about it.
The one good thing David’s grandfather ever did for them was something he did after he was already dead. He left them quite a bit of money. And David’s wonderful, amazing mother, who could fully afford to quit her job, but she kept on working, although she took jobs a bit less often. It gave David a more comfortable life, and well, she had always been so fond of her line of work...
...Isn't that just a scream, Lilly? ... Well, yes it is morbid, but that's part of the fun. ... What do you mean you want to go to the kitchenware showcase? ... Well it's not just about the knives Lilly- Lilly? Lilly are you still there? Lilly? Damn. Guess I'm going to the knife showcase alone. Kitchenware showcase! I meant Kitchenware showcase! It's a Kitchenware Showcase... Right?"
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