Thursday, October 20, 2016

Aw Buttons!

So it appears that Ozzy has Koumpounophobia. Which is just a bordering-on-Munchausen-by-proxy name for a phobia of buttons. (And this post is an avoidance-by-proxy game of talking about the debates last night, i.e. HolyphuckaphobiaWeAreAllGoingToDie.)

But seriously. Ozzy won't touch buttons. He won't wear anything with buttons, which at 5 is not such a big deal until you go somewhere fancy and have to resort to one of those tacky tuxedo tees. He also won't touch anyone who is wearing buttons. If I try to hug him while wearing a shirt with buttons he backs away sneering, buttons! as if I am covered in wet maggots sprinkled with shart.
This is probably the last pic of him in buttons. He is about 9 months old here, and is apparently shooting me stink eye to tell me to get this button-dotted monstrosity off me woman!

As soon as he could talk he told me that he hated buttons. Ok then, I thought, and ripped the buttons of his little cargo pant pockets. Every few months I check in with him. Do you think you might want to try buttons now? I ask. No. What about now? No. But big boys love buttons! I say when it appears we are getting nowhere. I picture him at 35 wearing sweatpants, dating women who dress in Minnie Mouse sweatshirts.

The good news is that he might invent something really cool and buy me a mansion to pay me back for all the elastic waistbands I have bought him over the years. After all, Steve Jobs had Koumpounophobia. It's what eventually led him to create the iPhone with its touchscreen user interface. For now, I try to understand what it is about buttons that Ozzy detests so much. Is it the look? The feel? Do they seem dirty or scary or make him feel trapped? I don't know. I don't know if he does either.

And so it is that buttons! has become a swear word in our house. Stubbed a toe? Buttons! Your husband ate the last of the cold pizza? What a buttonhole! Watched a debate that makes you fear for the future of your children and the very culture of this great nation? Holy fuck, that is some socketing buttony shanked up shit right there.



Anonymous said...

hilarious -

....had a really hot curry last night, tasted great, but I felt like buttoning my pants this morning.

kerwin said...

Humans are so weird. I hate balls of cotton. I am incapacitated by a brand new container of advil that has the cotton inside it. Crafting in elementary school was a nightmare. My phobia was not as prevalent as buttons though. It will be interesting when he can get to the bottom of the button issue.

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Lara said...

So, just catching up on your blog in a super long time. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I totally have this phobia. I've outgrown it somewhat (and I'm really good at hiding it most of the time), but I felt the same as Ozzy when I was little. Buttons? No thank you. Honestly, I still don't even like the word. I wish I could tell you what it is about them that weirds me out -- believe me, I recognize that a therapist would have a field day with this -- but no breakthroughs as of yet (and nearly 38 years into life, I'm not holding my breath for any). The only thing I can verbalize is that they're kind of a barrier, and they disrupt the flow of things. That probably makes no sense, nor is it of any help to you (or Ozzy). I'm also really picky when it comes to the type of buttons on clothing -- some are fine, others make me cringe. Weird, right? Sorry I can't offer much more insight. If it helps, I've turned out mostly normal (whatever that means) other than this oddity.