Confessions of a Singleton

IT'S CONFESSION TWO-FERS-DAY!!!
I know. I know!! You all loved it so much last time and were wondering when it was coming back. Well here it is my little peach pits!
One Tuesday. Two Confessions.

I was hanging out with some friends a few weeks ago and we watched a few episodes of 30 Rock, and the one where Liz Lemon starts choking came on. Now, as a single woman who lives alone (just like Liz Lemon! I'm basically Tina Fey, guys!) I know exactly what to do in that situation, so I started yelling, "fall on the counter!" because that's what you do! There are just things you need to know to keep yourself alive. I love living alone, I just do. It doesn't scare me to be alone; I need my space, lots of quiet, and I like being by myself. I'm alone, but never lonely. And yet...

Confession: I am afraid of living alone for two very good reasons: choking and undies. 

Choking to death is a legitimate concern! It is a very serious fear that I have and only because there are certain things that I will always choke on. It's only a matter of time when I sit down to eat sushi. Inevitably, I won't chew the seaweed and will end up with most of it trailing down my throat while a tiny bit of it is still in my mouth and I'll have to pull it out like a gross magic trick. Ta da!

 But that scenario is less upsetting than every time I leave my home with my dress tucked into my underwear.

More horrifying than masticated food being pulled back out of my throat is that I have a history of not properly checking myself before leaving the house. I don't even tell people when I've gotten into the car and noticed that I have lipstick on my teeth, am wearing one earring, realize I've only shaved one leg, because something ridiculous like that happens so frequently. It's surprising because I make a real effort in life. I really try to look better than presentable. Hair done, nails painted, shoes awesome. And then I'll sit down and realize my skirt is tucked into my tights. Or my underwear. That not only my ass, but my pride, is just hanging out there for the world to see.

Bonus: closely following those two things is the unfortunate habit I have of tripping on everything-- when getting in and out of the shower, over floor rugs, whilst putting on pants. I'll trip and smash my head or break my legs AND arms and be stuck on the floor and no one will miss me. Living with another person wouldn't change any of it. Whoever ends up with me is just going to laugh as I run out the door in my slippers or find my dead body covered in California Rolls. There's just no helping me.

All right, guys. Confession Two-fers-day is here. What horrible ways are you afraid to die? AND what horribly embarrassing thing do you do way more frequently than you should?