And so I have this phobia...

Verminophobia is fear of germs.

  Have you ever been to the dentist? Well, I have, and let me tell you, it was the most terrible, most horrific, most traumatizing event in my life.
  As a child, I had no fear of the dentist. In fact, the idea of getting my little pearls clean was just peachy and glorious. I even loved that cotton candy whip-like sustance they sprayed in a cup. But one day, whilest a 'dental assistant,' as said their name tags, was working away in my little tiny mouth, she got this all screwed up look on her face and I wondered what was the matter.
 "Doctor Marcussssss!" She hollared, which was rather annoying, as it was right in my ear, "You better see this."
  And right then I was terrified. Had they found some aliens' spawn growing in my tooth, and did they need to remove it immediately before it ate it's way through my skull and into my brain? While I fretted and got all red and feverish, and a small, uncomfortable knot gnawed at my little belly, the dental assistant, Tracy, was her name, stared into my mouth with such a look of disgust that I wanted to slap her. Would she just tell me what's going on?! I didn't realize I'd spoken the thought aloud, and she just looked her mole-spotted face (Well, there was only one mole, but it was huge, so it kind of made you want to think of her with more), and said, in a rather rude voice, as if she were the one annoyed with me, "I can't understand a word you're saying. Just wait for the doctor to get here."
  Well, once 'Dr.Marcus' was there, they had a long and confusing conversation meant to confuse you about molars and tooth 1 and 2 and what they should do when incisor A.23576 comes in, or something like that. I really stopped paying attention around the time he mentioned pulled B4.7 and just stared at the fishes on the ceiling meant to amuse children. I thought they were ugly. And purple. I hated the color purple.
  Jerking me out of my thoughts of hatred about purple, the dentist leaned in real close so I could smell his perfect mint breath and see his perfect teeth. Why did all dentists have perfect teeth? It was rather unnerving.
 "Are you listening to me?" I nodded rapidly, which was a mistake, as a bit of spittle flew out at the doctor through the mouth opener-thingy.
 He wiped it off with controlled outrage and said in that annoying, commercial voice, "Ha ha. Be careful now. Now, you have an infection, and we'll need to get you into surgery immediately."
  What on earth did that mean? And what surgery? Were the going to chop off my hand? * took a little panting gasp and gripped my right arm with my left with bruising strength.
  "Now, now, don't be upset, it's all right, you won't feel a thing." He tried to calm me down by laying a hand over my clamped fingers, but then I started screaming, thinking they really were going to chop my hand off, and "OF COURSE I'D FEEL IT IT IF THEY DID!"
  I then proceeded to rip my mouthpiece out, resulting later in a bloody lip, and rushed out the door, a whole dental staff trailing me.
  Eventually I was forced to have the surgery and put to sleep, but from now on, I have avoided everything dental.
  I have Dentophobia.

The End

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