As it turns out I am afraid of linoleum flooring. I would like to be able to explain in great detail why I am but I only just now got the results back from the doctor and am quite taken back by the discovery.

How many times have I looked and the cheap flooring or even walked on it, not know that I am deafly afraid of it? Twenty-seven times. That is how many.

I am thinking back over my life trying to remember why I hate, loathe, fear and possibly lick (not like Roger, lick) the cheap style of floor covering. I have narrowed it down to one situation that I remember distinctively.

I was 5 years old, figuratively speaking. I was actually 23 but for the purpose of this story 5 years of age will do quite nicely.

I was walking down an ally at night when a man dressed in rages hopped out of a garbage can that was shaped like a 1995 Buick La Sabre. He was either foaming at the mouth from rabies or chewing a McChicken sandwich from McDonalds without his dentures in. I do not care to speculate.

The man was saying something that was wholly inaudible then fell to the ground dead. Since I didn’t know what he said I just made up words that sounded remotely similar. He had told me that I would die from a blow to the head with a 2-inch by 6-inch swatch of linoleum. His words still haunt me to this day.

I wet my bed, which I had been in the whole time. Now, I fear linoleum.

Yep that story should be able to explain my crippling disability.