Eskewpades

Incognito Facade in Wackadoodle Man Cave   Forget acrophobia, claustrophobia and agoraphobia. The medical community can’t cough up a phobia for my main malady. So, I’ll coin the term myself — fame-aphobia. Yes siree Bob, I fear fame. It started when I became a teenage idol. No nostalgia for me, thanxx. When I recall my overwhelming celebrity as a teenager, I practically shiver. Sigh. It all began when high school teachers and fellow students urged me, the uninhibited class zany, to participate in Friday morning convocation programs.  Without a nerve in my body, I felt like a star performing humorous monologues in front of 1,500 screaming teenagers. I had ‘em rolling in the aisles. Then came the dreaded noon hour. It seemed like the whole world knew me. Kids would clutter around my table in the cafeteria.  It felt great to be favored, but ’twas a holy horror for my privacy penchant. Ya see, I’m an extravert but with a decidedly super macho, lone wolf si...