Diving into death of cotton balls

I do NOT do cotton balls or anything that feels like it. Put me around a cotton ball and I go mentally deranged. I look like a giraffe trying to go under a 7' bridge. I lean my head in all different angles and try to resist the synthetic like material. My face looks like my fingers after a 40 minute bath and my eyeballs start looking like I am staring directly into the sun. The noise that comes out of my mouth sounds like the combination of a chimpanzee mating and somebody taking a shit. It's just not a pretty sight and unless you want some entertainment, then I suggest you don't get me around it. How did I get like this? I didn't just pick up a cotton ball one day and decide this normal everyday object wasn't for me, I had to have a near death experience with this dreadful thing to be afraid of it.

I was in gymnastics as a child before my brother got us kicked you. I loved doing cartwheels and showing my dad everything I learned on our trampoline when I got home. Butt-drops were my specialty as it required no talent or balance. At the end of the gymnastic session which was a long tiring hour, we were able to do free time and jump into the "pit." This pit looked like a swimming pool, yet instead of water, it contained blocks that felt exactly like cotton balls. Everyone loved doing this at the end. They would jump as high as they could and torpedo into the pit off "fun."

My first time doing it I was so excited because at home we had a swimming pool and I loved diving into the water, so I figured this would be the same type of experience. Boy was I wrong. When I jumped into the blocks of styrofoam I literally became a spastic blonde trying to contain everything inside of me not to look like a total fool. Everything inside of my started to counteract and I just wanted to escape. Instead of just letting go of a cotton-ball that I had control of, I was surrounded by millions of them, laughing at my freak episode. It felt as horrible as a person running nails on a chalkboard. I had to "swim" out of it as my toes were curling and my eyes danced around in my head. I looked like a child frantically swimming in a kiddy pool. Once I reached the edge and climbed out, I decided from that day forth I would never jump in and rick my life like that or my dignity.


My mother asked me the days that followed why I didn't want to jump in the pit. I never told her. They say face your fears, but I will never jump into pothole of doom. Every time I have to repaint my toes I cringe and even looking at cotton balls I shudder. Thank goodness for pedicures.