Menopausal Mother

I've never understood why people love horror movies. I don't enjoy getting the hell scared out of me or pooping my pants in fright. My kids thrive on “jump scare” movies. If my heart needs a jump start, it's going to come from a medical professional slapping some paddles on my chest and yelling, “CLEAR!”

The Exorcist hit the box office when I was in middle school. All the cool kids crammed into the theaters on opening weekend, but my mother refused to let me see the movie. Which probably had more to do with Linda Blair stuffing a crucifix up her nether regions than her actual demonic possession.

Fast forward ten years when the Poltergeist came out. I didn't WANT to see this movie, but it was the talk of the town and I'd be damned if I was going to miss out on all the fun. BIG MISTAKE. My bladder muscles have never been the same since I saw that movie and no amount of Kegel exercises are going to get it back into shape.

Poltergeist convinced me that my home was built over an ancient Indian burial ground and that I'd be sucked into my television set by their demonic spirits. Because of that movie, I haven't slept without a night light since 1982.

For years I lived blissfully ignorant of popular horror movies until my teenagers convinced me to watch The Ring. Yeah, let's scare the shit out of Mom and shave a few years off her life. If they wanted early access to their inheritance, they could have done it in a more humane way rather than tell me this movie was “not at all scary.” Being the naïve parent that I was, I fell for their sadistic plot to give me early gray hairs and watched The Ring.

Suffice it to say, I spent the following two hours curled up in the fetal position, chewing my cuticles until my fingers looked like they had been through a cheese grater. I spent WEEKS sitting up late at night, just waiting for a creepy girl with stringy, black hair to come crawling out of my television set. That movie was my early introduction to Mr. Insomnia, and we've been carrying on a cozy affair ever since.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total wuss. I can watch The Walking Dead and American Horror Story---as long as every light in the house is on and all the doors are locked. And it doesn't hurt to barter sex with The Hubs for extra assurance that there are no zombies roaming the backyard in search of brains or creepy dudes in black, latex suits hiding in my closet.

     

Paranormal Activity, Saw and Carrie? No, no, and HELL no. Unless the theater provides free jello shots and has a Depends Undergarments dispenser, don't expect to see me in line for the next Halloween horror hit.