Does anyone else have a hierarchy of ways to die? I mean, it’s not like I’m ready to go, I’ve got things I still want to do. But if time’s up (and I have my druthers) then there are a few ways I’d prefer to leave this earth. Peaceful would be nice. So would being surrounded by people I love.

On the flip side, there are some deaths I know I don’t want.

Crashing to the ground in a fiery plane explosion? Not so much.


Other ways I most definitely do not want to bite the big one.

Hot Yoga.

Where to begin. Hot, sweaty, sticky mess. Muffin top. Spandex. Sports bra that may or may not be situated properly. “Why do you care, Laura? It’s not like you’ll be around to suffer the humiliation.” Point taken, but still.

Carny Rides.

Shoot, you wouldn’t catch me at the mall carnival in a million years so you’d think I’d be safe from death by carny ride. It turns out you could be wrong.

We were driving to Bear’s tournament last weekend when we came up on a carny truck hauling one of their rides to the next town. The carny driver must have been sleepy, though, because as we passed he started drifting out of his lane and into ours. He drifted. And drifted. Time stood still as I contemplated the possibility that avoiding the mall carnival might not be enough. That I could be killed by a carny ride on the freaking interstate.



Oh lawdy, those teeny tiny spaces. It’s not like I worry about elevators crashing to the basement level, smushing everyone inside to a pulp. (Although that sentence sure does sound like I worry about it.) But that itty bitty space – one that shrinks tenfold for every person who steps on – well, it only holds so much oxygen. Getting trapped between floors with a crowd of people, feeling the temperature rise as my brain shuts down…the only thing worse is being buried alive. And I’d like to thank NCIS and Monk for graphic visuals of that particular horror.


There’s a particularly rich irony in choking on health supplements. The idea that a pill meant to help me digest food and absorb vitamins could lodge in my throat, cutting off oxygen until I pass out then go belly up, is the ultimate in satire. “But what are the odds?” you say. Gee, you must be new to the blog. The odds are excellent. I’ve been taking supplements since January 5th and I’ve had at least ten choking incidents, two of which involved puking into the kitchen sink. ‘Cause I’m classy like that.


Don’t give me your medical jargon, I’m still convinced it’s possible to actually buy the farm from crippling boredom. Marathon sessions playing Candyland with an overly competitive preschooler. Watching Bob the Builder for the thousandth time. Heading into hour four of fortnite tips and tricks, updates and giveaways. Jesus, take the wheel.