Death
This isn't so much of a phobia, but I am about to reveal to you all just how much of a coward I am.
I was about 17, I had dozens of female friends, and one of them, Ange, was a legend. Sure, she wasn't pretty, but talk about free-spirited! She was obsessed with South Park (which had only just come out), and would regularly burst into a rendition of 'shut your fucking face uncle fucker' at any given opportunity. She was silly to the point of making entire pubs curl up with laughter, as she would recount the tales of the times when her boyfriend would wake her up by 'wapping' her in the face with a semi.
She worked in a card shop, and at the end of every shift she would perform a victory lap, before bouncing up and down like a demented Lynford Christie.

One night, after a bad day at work, we'd met up in the pub, she'd been as silly as ever adn somehow we got to arguing over the spelling of the word 'bigot'. I'd insisted that it only has one g, while the whole pub argued back that there were two. This somehow lead to quite a big bust up between me, Ange's boyfriend, and my other friend's boyfriend. Culminating in me storming out of the pub in typical teenager style.

That night when I got home, I tore the dictionary definition (and spelling, obviously) out of my Collins Gem dictionary, determined to thrust it into their stupid little faces and prove them all wrong.

Except, that's not what happened, I bumped into Ange's best friend, Shelley, she told me that Ange had died the following day. Unbeknown to me, and most of her friends, Ange had fought off skin cancer a couple of years previously, it'd come back and she decided not to fight it this time (she was 22). She'd chosen to enjoy what little time she had left with her friends.
Shelley asked me whether I wanted to go to the Ange's cremation, I said that I would, but when the day came around I just couldn't face it. I've never dealt with death before in my life, I'm too much of a coward.
But I carry the dictionary definition of 'bigot' in my wallet with me, everywhere I go, as a reminder of my slightly crazy, extremely funny, entertaining, and brave friend, Ange.

RIP Ange, I hope Terence and Philip are giving you the best spitroast ever down there.

*shutyourfuckingfaceunclefuckers*

PS there was a suffix to this story, as my sister-in-law's (my brother's wife) Dad passed away last night, but this story is long enough already.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 9:57, Reply)