I hate admitting this, but an inanimate object terrifies my days and haunts my dreams at night.  I try to act brave in the presence of this formidable machine known as a bagel slicer because I cringe at the thought of others grouping me with those who fear napkins, lava lamps, automatic sliding doors, microwaves, nails, escalators, needles, or other equally pathetic items.  My fear of bagel slicers may sound just as lame, but I firmly believe that if society accepts others’ fears of lions or sharks, then there is nothing shameful about my phobia since a bagel slicer can just as easily tear off a human limb.  

 

Actually, a bagel slicer would chop off a body part with even greater ease since the circular shape of its blade allows it to constantly pursue its work. In a fraction of a second, it would slice through skin, rip apart tendons, sever ligaments, and grind through bone, replacing the bagel crumbs that usually gather on its parts with human blood.   While a lion must relax his mouth in order to dig down deeper into your flesh or lick his lips before he devours your arm for dinner, the blade of a bagel slicer never stops for such trivial reasons, making it exponentially more efficient in the art of amputation.  

 

Although I haven’t witnessed a bagel slicer carry out such an act of violence, I know in a matter of time it will lash out against its oppressors, and I foresee myself as the unlucky victim of this aggression. I attempt time and time again to render the bagel slicer slicer helpless.  I throw dozens of its screws into the garbage, hide its blade underneath hundreds of pounds of Swiss cheese, and stick several pieces of gum into the socket that powers it, but somehow every time, the bagel slicer works flawlessly the next time I see it.   

 

Unfortunately, each time I fail, the time grows shorter before the bagel slicer will destroy me, according to interpretation of my dreams, alignment of the stars, and messages in my fortune cookies.  Past messages I found in my fortune cookie include: “Be watchful of sharp teeth and steel blades.” “An accident at work is likely.” “Treasure handshakes and hi-fives.” “Carelessness leads to loss.”  

 

Now, I no longer eat these cookies that carry such frightening fortunes, but perhaps I better forget my paranoia.  I guess I have already begun heading towards recovery by admitting my fear.  I plan to continue my rehabilitation efforts by starting a support group for others that share my fear of bagel slicers or other monstrous machines called Scared of Slicers Anonymous or SSA that meets every Mondays and Thursdays in Room 538 at 7:12 a.m.