Most of my life choices and daily activities are informed by my all-consuming fear of death. If I’m not worried about dying myself, I’m probably worried about one of my loved ones dying — or, if I need an occasional change of pace, whether or not those girls over there are laughing at me.
(If you don’t spend the majority of your time thinking about death, what do you even think about? Baseball stats? The glycemic index? The collected works of Andrea Dworkin? I can’t even imagine.)
As you might reasonably assume, I’ve spent a lot of time envisioning the various scenarios that might ultimately lead to my demise. Genetics — and regular old statistics — suggest I’m most likely to succumb to heart disease or cancer. But I have a number of other weaknesses, failings, proclivities, and quirks that leave me vulnerable to all kinds of accidental-death situations.
So, how am I most likely to experience an unnatural death? I’d say the odds are stacked in favor of one of these hilarious mishaps/grievous tragedies. (Vote for your favorite in the comments, and — no promises! — but I’ll see what I can do.)
Some people say, “I’m soooo OCD,” and they say it while they’re giggling and insisting that you remove your shoes before you walk on their carpet. Unless these people are simultaneously popping Anafranil and flipping a light switch on and off exactly 13 times, they might not actually be OCD.
(I hate taking my shoes off in other people’s houses. What if I didn’t know you were one of those people, and I’m not wearing my “company”-grade socks? Or what if I’m wearing heels with no tights or anything, and now I’m just padding around your house barefoot, like a goddamn street urchin? Most importantly, why did you buy carpeting that you never wanted anyone to walk on? I mean, Pergo is a thing for a reason.)
I don’t want to join the ranks of the irritatingly tidy who trivialize obsessive-compulsive disorder, but YOU GUYS, I THINK I MIGHT HAVE OCD FOR REAL. Let’s review the evidence.
ONE. I think the Virgin Mary is magical.
I have about five Mary-themed air fresheners in my car, because once I got in a bad car accident but didn’t die, and no one can prove to me that it wasn’t because of the rose-scented Virgin of Guadalupe hanging from my rearview mirror. Related: I carry a rosary for good luck. And also an evil eye amulet… and a key chain in the shape of a gas pump, which matters only because my dad gave it to me. So far, so normal — AM I RIGHT?
TWO. I’m a selective eater.
In the very technical sense of the word, because I could eat most of you under the table, quantity-wise. But anything with an icky texture — which is the majority of all foodstuffs, FYI — is verboten. Continue reading