By Frank Roberts

Dear Mr. K.I.A (Know-It-All) Scientist: My li’l boy sheds more than little bitty tears. He cries and yowls when he sees a daddy longlegs. Whassa matter for him? Signed, Had It

Dear H.I.: Have no fear about his fear. He has a bad case of tipulophobia, and there are many like him. Just give that poor man’s spider a flick. It is relatively harmless — unless swallowed.

Dear Mr. K.I.A.: You’ll probably laugh at my letter and toss it aside, but my Aunt Jack says she suffers from turophobia. It sounds cheese-y. Signed, Mr. Kraft

Dear Mr. Kraft: I hate this. If there are more like your oddly-named aunt, my stock would plummet. Turophobia is a fear of cheese. That includes cream and cottage.

On Sunday, I answer appropriate letters. Readers have asked me about papaphobia and uranophobia. The first is fear of the Pope, and the other is fear of heaven.

Dear Mr. Oak, Mr. Willow, Mr. Elm and others of your ilk: The problem you’re talking about is hylophobia, the fear of trees. There is no such thing as leafaphobia.

Dear Sir and/or Ma’am: I have a cousin who’s afraid of being afraid. Does that make sense? Signed, Woodsy Owl

Dear W.O.: Yep. It’s the fear of fear. Honest. Fear of fear of fear of fear. Boris Karloff had that problem.

Dear Mr. K.I.A.: My hairy-faced cuz has given me a case of pogonophobia. Every time I see a hairy-faced dude, I break out in a sweat. So, what’s my problem. Signed, Huh?

Dear Huh?: You will have to stay inside. Over the last several years, everyone except ladies and babies are growing beards. You are, obviously, a-feared of ’em.

Here is a problem that never bothered Hugh Hefner — or me, for that matter. We don’t suffer from Venustraphobia — a fear of beautiful women. A real baddie is haphephobia. Got it? Means you’re afraid of being touched.

W.O. told me about a modern age problem. Some people have nomophobia. That’s a 21st century problem. It means that you are deathly afraid of losing cell phone contact. The eminent “me” suggests concentrating on your driving.

A personal note: My kids suffer deeply from soteriophobia, the fear of becoming dependent on someone else. Aww, Daddy is here.

I’ll quit here. The editor may not like all this, and I might get a case of rejectophobia.

…

In care you’re wondering, all of the above is legit. I leave you with this confession: I was surrounded by a bull and a lion. I shot the lion first, because I could always shoot the bull.