Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been repulsed by buttons. I don’t know why. I don’t remember being traumatized by a button. Even the word is uncomfortable for me.

It’s an embarrassing phobia to have, because I know it doesn’t make any sense.

My mother would dress my brothers and me in white button down shirts for church, and by the time we got out to the car afterwards, I had my dress shirt off and was in my t shirt.

Steve Jobs had the same condition. It has a name: Koumpounophobia.

I felt some comfort from learning that this is a thing. That I’m not the only one.

I guess it’s fairly common for people to be repulsed by little holes, like on a poppy pod, or even the seeds on a strawberry. Those things don’t bother me at all, but maybe they’re related. Coins don’t disturb me. The metal button on a pair of jeans is no problem for me at all. It’s the plastic ones that I hate. Especially if they’re brownish to resemble antler or wood. Those look like boogers.

Often, I have to wear dress shirts to perform weddings. I’m ok with it if I have a necktie to cover the buttons. If I take my suit coat off, I can roll the shirt cuff.

Recently I thought it might be a good idea to change my look. For many decades, my default has been t shirts or sweatshirts and jeans. I have some clothes that I’ve been wearing for 10, 15 years. Some longer.

Three years ago, when I got a job at the school, I bought a couple of button down shirts to wear to work. I wore one of them one time on the first day of school. Now I’m trying it again.

By talking about it or writing about it, maybe I can desensitize myself.

Twice this week, I wore button down shirts to work. I have new ones in several colors. Maybe I can do this.