Electric Underpants

Jeff sat in the overstuffed couch, feeling a little uncomfortable. The couch was so overstuffed in fact that he felt like he was being consumed by it — forced back through its gullet toward its insatiable stomach. He expected to find other people living in the couch’s gut – all with anxiety disorders and all waiting for a rescue that wouldn’t come until the couch was reupholstered a few years down the road. Aside from the ravenous couch, the rest of the psychologist’s office seemed familiar:  bookshelves, clocks, pictures, and warm, friendly colors. The usual.

As long as he could remember, Jeff had been afraid of germs. And it was a particularly frustrating phobia because he couldn’t see the enemy, but he knew they were there: breeding, growing, flying through the air, loitering on surfaces, invading his body through every orifice; making him sick, making him tense, whispering their dirty little thoughts in his ears…

“Jeff, your toothbrush is in the bathroom 24 hours a day,” a germ would say. “Seems a little unsanitary to me.”

“Jeff, that chicken’s been in the refrigerator for three days. It looks a little green.”

“Jeff, I saw the chef earlier and it looked liked he had a runny nose.”

Read the rest of this entry »