Arachibutyrophobia
-the fear of having peanut butter stuck to the root of your mouth
Tyson took out his rations, observing the harpy perched on a rock in front of him. Stanley Park had the biggest trees ever, and the prettiest harpies.
"Ella hungry?" He asked.
"Ella ate in the morning." She said shaking her head. "Good morning, bon matin. Was not a good morning. Potato cannon fired. Violence." She started mumbling a poem on war composed sometime long ago, and Tyson took out a sandwich for himself. He'd been walking around forever, he was so hungry he could eat a pony, but he wouldn't.
He took out a peanut butter sandwich while observing the harpy, and peeled the serene wrap away from it. Ella's shifty eyes landed on him and she squawked and hid behind the rock she was perched on.
"Peanut butter!" She said.
"What wrong with PB?" Tyson asked.
"Arachibutyrophobia," Ella mumbled nervously. "No, no, no, no…"
Tyson knew that word, but only because Annabeth had told him because she thought he'd find it funny.
"Oh," Tyson said. He looked down at the peanut butter. He didn't want to put it away. He was hungry and it was peanut butter. "Okay," he finally said, putting the sandwich back in his pack.