‘Cocktail of terror’ includes shortage of coffee, teen drivers

Lucky for them, I’ve managed to escape ephebiphobia.  That’s the fear of teenagers.  And lucky for me, I don’t have androphobia.  That’s the fear of men.  What I do have is intermittent dystychiphobia (fear of accidents) and amaxophobia (fear of riding in a car).  This strikes during that time of life known as driver’s training.  Combine that with the two mentioned above, and you’ve got a sinister cocktail of terror that involves fear of an accident while riding in a car with a teenage male.  Once I climb out of the glove box after that last go-round, I’ll try to figure out what the official term for that would be.  If Mr. Schrock would hold still long enough to lie on a therapist’s couch and share his feelings, he’d probably be diagnosed with lockiophobia.  I suspect he’s not alone.  The fear of childbirth is very real, and the Good Lord knew what He was doing when He decreed that mamas would have the babies.  Some have hinted that if men had ‘em, every family would only have one, and then who knows what would happen to the world’s population.  I never said that, mind you.  I’m only passing on what I’ve been told.  Autophobia’s no problem for me, either.  Au contraire.  It’s precisely because I’m afraid I’m not alone that I lift every piece of carpet, check every pocket, peek beneath every seat, and rifle through the trunk before heading to the coffee shop.  I don’t trust those guys further than I can throw ‘em.  The minute I forget the predeparture check, I’ll have a rooster-tailed stowaway with bright blue eyes popping up in my rearview mirror, saying, “Buy me a bar, Mom?” I don’t know the term for the paralyzing fear of a coffee shortage, but I’ve got that, too.  Now that College Kid is home, my beans are evaporating, and it’s not looking good.  If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to replenish my supply.  I just have to search the van first.