October 12, 2010
I have randomly weird, worrisome thoughts about how I would manage in the event of such life-altering things as a zombie apocalypse, being kidnapped and held by terrorists for several years, or ending up in some Turkish prison, falsely accused of drug smuggling. Or, particularly relevant to today’s news, trapped half a mile underground in a Chilean mine without company or hope of near-term discovery (although there is no way in hell you’d get me down there to begin with, unless it was by way of a giant sinkhole that then closed up again). Or surviving in a post-nuclear world, doing my best to evade the Mad Max-style creepies out there, roaming the empty highways. I suppose dwelling on these things keeps me from thinking about the bigger-picture issues, which in general are too horrifying to really discuss. So I focus on the trivial. How about you?
To wit, my Top Five Fears:
1. No fresh contact lenses or saline solution.
If I don’t have my glasses when the zombies invade, I’m screwed.
1a. Glasses and sunglasses.
And even then, what do I do for sunglasses? I don’t have a prescription pair, and I can’t even go outside on a cloudy day without squinting like Dirty Harry. I think I may be part vampire.
I guess if I at least ended up with a pair of glasses I could see out of (we’re talking -8.0 diopters here, with a bifocal correction of +2.0), maybe I could score a stash of those funky huge wraparound shades you always see old people wearing home after cataract surgery. I could hang with that.
I don’t have Heloise’s stain removal advice or Emmylou Harris’ singing talents. I have no desire to have my hair end up looking like either of them, or worse yet, some half-gray, half faded blonde (or deep auburn, depending on what month this is) Chernobyl-inspired disaster.
If I’m ever kidnapped by terrorists and held hostage for an extended period of time, my eyebrows will start to look like Andy Rooney and my chin will be reminiscent of the three little piggies.
If I don’t wash my hair pretty much every day, my skin starts to break out everywhere my hair touches – around the forehead, chin, jaw, neck, etc. I’m 47. Why do I have to still deal with pimples?
5. A razor.
Right up there with the chin. I don’t need to have my underarms looking straight out of Paris, France and my lower legs like Sasquatch.
In short, whenever I am rescued and brought back to civilization or what passes for it and before I have to face the light of the press, the public, or of day, I want a trip to the local spa. With no mirrors anywhere in sight.