I’ve finally been able to pinpoint exactly what it is. I have Burbophobia.
There. I admit it. I have Burbophobia. (a term I can not take credit for- It’s been mentioned 489 times on the web, according to Google). It started back in high school, when I managed to get lost in a suburb with about 20 houses. All the streets were named after Fruits, and I’ve dubbed it “Fruitville.” That makes it that much scarier.
It was so small (looking), so innocent (looking), so, may I say it, demure (looking)? And yet I got so lost. It was terrible.
Now, everytime since, whenever I enter the suburbs, I have to take a deep breath. It’s seriously a struggle for me.
How did I discover this fear of houses that all look the same? Never mind the valid arguments about how bad the lifestyle it encourages is for the environment, the affects on health on the dwellers, the deforestation, or the architects and interior designers suburbs put out of business. I blame it on Ben Folds’ “Rockin’ the Suburbs,” from the Soundtrack of “Over the Hedge.”
Good movie, by the way.
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