Globophobia is the fear of balloons.
I do not know the underlying cause of my phobia but I know I fucking hate balloons.
The thought of them bursting, the sound when you run your fingers over them, their smell, passing out trying to blow them up, the horrid difficulty that is tying them.
GET. AWAY. FROM. ME.
I’m making a face just typing this.
I honestly hate them so much that I have left the saggy remnants of three hanging in my hall for a year now for fear of having to touch them.
My friends are all very understanding of my problem with balloons and when I say understanding, understand I am exercising my sarcasm gland.
Recently, Isabelle (Of Rennes fame) turned up at a Northern Soul night to meet me with a fucking balloon in tow. It was the size of a prize pumpkin.
She tried to touch me with it. On my face. I ran further into the Northern Soul night. Quite rightly, Isabelle was denied access on health and safety grounds. (Not even making this up.)
The night continued and I blocked out the earlier balloon incident, until two days later when I found an envelope pushed through the door of my house.
I had to touch the fucking thing to take that photo.