As a kid I was legitimately terrified of fish. At the cottage, I pretended there were no fish in the lake, and if anything tickled my toes while in the water, I would be up the ladder in an instant. I remember once I was with my Dad and my brother who were fishing in the late afternoon, when a fresh catch jumped off the rod and was flailing and flopping about on the dock. That fish was legitimately terrified, but it was me who lost my shit… I sprinted up to the cottage screaming at the top of my lungs. My Mom bounded out of the shower, towel thrown around her soaking wet body, thinking someone had died. Nope, no crisis, just a fish out of water.
A few years later, while on a family vacation to Disney World, we had the day at Typhoon Lagoon. There was a snorkelling experience across a “shark reef”, where guests could see real sharks below (under glass? I don’t actually remember). I panicked and was crying, and when my parents asked me what I was scared of, I yelled, “THE FISH!!!” I have a vague memory of closing my eyes and kicking my little heart out, making it to the other side, without having to see a single fish (or shark, for that matter!).
To me fish were icky, slimy, otherworldly, and only acceptable in frozen fish stick form, paired with minute rice and creamed corn.