Oh dear. Rollercoasters. Just the word sends shivers down my spine.
I’ve never actually been on a rollercoaster. Opportunities to do so have presented themselves, but I usually run away crying. They’re just so terrifying. I think a fear of them has been carried through from my childhood to my adult life.
They’re big. Domineering, almost. They make the worst kind of sound, a deep throbbing grunt of a sound. Then there’s being on them. I’m terrified of heights. Being high up gives me that feeling one gets of vomit bubbling in the stomach. I haven’t even mentioned the high speeds involved, which I just can’t stand. Not to mention the fact that the wind would mess up my gorgeous long hair. And that would be a massive tragedy.
As a result of all this, I’ve never been on a rollercoaster. Not as a child, not as an adult, not ever, not once. I wouldn’t even go on one as a corpse. It’s like scaring people for fun in horror movies. It’s so counterintuitive to me that it doesn’t make any rational sense. So I choose to ignore them and get on with my life.
The Friday Bonus Question
Plucked from the basement of the internet, a bewildering question that defies logic and an answer, here for you to ponder.
When night falls, who picks it up?
(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. To do so, you can leave a comment by pressing the bubble on the top right of this post and scroll to the bottom of the new page to where it says ‘leave a reply’. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks)