Why We Were Late To Church

This morning while we were waking up, Margaret asked me, “Agoraphobia — isn’t that ‘fear of open places’? What about ‘angoraphobia’?”

He: “You mean, ‘fear of fuzzy cats’? Or are you thinking of ‘Igoraphobia’?”

She: “ ‘Fear of hunchbacks’? Oh, dear; what about ‘angeraphobia’?”

He: “ ‘Fear of wrath‘?”

She: Or “ ‘Al-Gore-aphobia’?”

He: “ ‘Fear of being trapped in conversation by an earnest policy wonk’?”

She: “Oh, dear! Or what about ‘Elgaraphobia’?”

He: “Fear of ‘Pomp and Circumstance’?”

[And as I was typing this, it occurred to me to add, “auguraphobia,” “fear of hand tools.”]

Raisin said:

Ohhhhhh…no fair making me laugh this hard! I’m voiceless and full of plenteous gross and horrid coughing and am bidden to be QUIET and now I am laughing so hard at your post that I am in tears! But these are lovely tears….and a relief after nothing but chest and lung pain for nearly 3 weeks…fie!

Keep those posts coming. But perhaps a laugh alert is in order at times?


Tripp says

Ah…Yes, perhaps it was liturgaphobia finally setting in after all these years of earns’t exposure?


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