http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-19077138

What if snails ruin everything?

What if I have to make a phone call?

Maybe the packages I ordered will be stolen from in front of my door. 

I’ve never been in a famine or war.  Maybe my fretting about everything when nothing really bad has ever happened to me shows a lack of perspective.  

On the other hand, maybe this just means the universe is saving it all up for a real humdinger of a disaster, and I should freak out even harder. 

Maybe the beeswax candle that melted off the mantle and left a long trail of beige drips down the wall will mean I never get my security deposit back.  Or maybe I’ll try to clean it and scrape off too much paint and make it worse. 

Or maybe they’ll just paint over it. 

Maybe that spider lurking in the corner is a brown recluse, just waiting for a chance to bite me.  I don’t know what dermonecrotic lesions are, but they don’t sound good. 

Maybe that yogurt top came open on the walk home from the grocery store.  Or maybe someone at the store peeled it back, mixed in some cyanide, and returned it to the shelves.   
Either way, I’m not eating it. 

Maybe the crazies are right and the world’s going to end in December 2012.  That won’t be much fun.  An apocalypse is bound to put a serious damper on any good mood you might have going.  I mean, you just had a nice year and now you’re dying in cataclysmic hellfire?  Nobody wants that.

And it’d be a shame not to be able to complain about how the new arrested development episodes aren’t as good as the originals.

Maybe colony collapse disorder will kill all the bees, leaving the world a brutal honeyless hellscape. 

Maybe it’s the things that I’m not worrying about that need the most worrying of all

Maybe an escalator will swallow my untied shoelace and, its appetite whetted,  gobble up my leg. 

Then I’ll have to spend the rest of my life telling the least swashbuckling leg loss story ever.

The human body has 206 bones.  I’ve never broken one.  How long can I keep that streak going?

Maybe I accidentally put the cooked chicken on the same plate I’d used for the raw chicken. 

Maybe that password is too short and somebody will guess it.  Or maybe it’s too long and I’ll forget it. Or maybe it’s just right and I’ll get hacked by a little blond  girl.