Was She Wearing Clean Underwear?

Since it's Friday the 13th and all, I thought I'd write a little bit about my morbidity. No matter if I'm going down the basement steps to do laundry or driving on the highway or eating really dry chicken, I always question if this is how I'm going to die. How would they find me? Would Britain be in a safe place until they found me? Would Matt cry? What would the paramedics think of my hairy legs?

I guess you could say I've been near death before. I've been in too many car accidents to count. I used to do really stupid things growing up. There was a super high, super long bridge by my house and I would cross underneath it by walking on only a thin, metal scaffolding. I would do this on a weekly basis for thrills. We used to sled ride in the woods, at night, dodging trees when we'd get to them. Some guy in a truck chased me down my deserted road one night until I dove into a bunch of weeds and hid out. So, yeah. I could have died. We all could have if we really think about it.

But for some reason, I'm ALWAYS thinking of ways I could bite it. Perhaps my car would start swerving uncontrollably on black ice and I'd hit the guardrail. I'd walk out to my car after the mall closed and some guy would rob and shoot me, not knowing all I have in my purse is an Eat N Park gift card for 10 smiley bucks and some Chuck E. Cheese coupons. My car breaks down on the highway and some idiot plows into me with their car when I get out for help.

Sometimes I just think of ways I could injure myself. I'd be stuck in a wheelchair after breaking my back. I'd trip on the way into the house and really screw up my face and jaw on the cement steps. I'd step on a knife while hunting for Easter eggs in a crime scene. One of the electric heaters we have in our house catches fire and burns 55% of my body.

You know, the normal stuff people think about.