I have always been a bit obsessed with death.
As a child I pondered about it a lot.
As a teenager I read about vampires, serial killers and psychopaths.
As part of my psychology degree I studied Death and Dying.
I have planned and imagined my own funeral many, many times.
I am not fearful of death. In my opinion my consciousness simply ceases to exist, therefore why worry about it? Its not as if I will even know I am dead.
I just stop being.
Not having any religious beliefs, I have no fear of an afterlife in hell, or of a final judgement day.
I live my life according to my own ethos based on kindness and leaving this world better than I found it, simply because it is what I believe to be the best way to live.
I often wonder how long I have left on this mortal coil?
I wonder what form my death will take?
Will it be sudden, unexpected and quick?
Or slow, painful and drawn out?
Will it be violent or peaceful?
I suspect, however, that my end will come about in the most mundane, prosaic and fairly pathetic fashion.
Here are some of my possible dumb ways to die…
Death by Dyson cord
I used to have a Dyson Vacuum cleaner.
It was heavy and awkward to use but it had amazing suction so I stuck with it.
As time went on I began to suspect this machine was truly out to kill me. Its electrical cord was constantly finding ways to wrap itself around my ankles. It was as if it was a malevolently sentient entity.
I suffered many close shaves with it and narrowly avoided being tripped up by it on frequent occasion.
The final straw came one day whilst vacuuming at the top of the stairs, the wicked appliance made its final attempt to murder me, and only my fast reactions and the stair bannister prevented me hurtling down the stairs.
Heart racing, blood pulsing, I sat down and envisioned my OH returning home that evening to find my broken breathless body at the bottom of the stairs.
I decided I would not allow my death to be caused by a bloody cleaning product.
The Dyson was recycled in favour of another, cordless Dyson.
I lived to vacuum another day!
*(I should point out that my stairs are not as grand as those in the photo, and neither do I wear such glamorous attire as that while I vacuum.)
Death by Steamer cord
My attempt to escape death by electrical cord turned out to be futile after all.
Having traded in the corded vacuum, I purchased a rather fancy floor steamer. My first few goes with it made me very happy, resulting in sparkling, hygienic floors, super fast with no sloppy mops or buckets.
Then it happened.
I was working away, pushing the steamer across the floor when I was suddenly snapped across the ankle by the evil electrical cord.
Desperate to avoid slipping on the wet floor, my legs splayed out from under me.
I managed to strain my inner thigh muscle.
Days of pain later, I vow to keep my eyes on that pesky cord at all times.
Electrical cords hate me.
Death by wine
I am an oenophile.
A wine lover.
I love the flavours.
I love the aromas.
I love the sound of a cork being opened.
I love the sound of wine being poured into a glass.
I love the calming sensation that ripples through my body after a glass.
The other night, as my OH walked our dogs, I was sipping a cold glass of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc as I prepared dinner, when I swallowed it the wrong way.
Spluttering and coughing I tried to clear my throat.
It wasn’t working. I couldn’t catch my breath.
Holding onto the back of a chair for support, feeling my face turn redder and redder as I struggled to inhale, I began to panic.
Could my love of wine really be the end of me?
Not by liver failure, heart disease or cancer, but by simply choking to death on a mouthful of the fermented grape?
Clearly I survived to tell the tale. But the episode does truly does give fresh blood to the saying…
Death by giant vitamin tablet.
I am starting to see a pattern to my near death experiences.
First of all electrical cords were out to kill me.
Now another chocking incident springs to mind.
As I am a bit of a health junkie I take several vitamin pills daily.
One morning after eating my breakfast I popped my usual cocktail of tablets. I tend to have a fairly gung-ho approach to this and often swallow several at once with a swig of water.
This particular morning I felt one lodge in my throat.
You know the one, that giant, horse-sized multivitamin in a gelatin capsule.
I took another glug of water, hoping to dislodge the offending object.
It remained wedged in its new home, my throat.
It felt enormous, like a bulging tumour at the back of my throat.
I tried to stick my fingers back there to see if I could manually move it.
Resisting the gag reflex I dug away, my fingertips scraping the gelatin sheath but not quite able to grasp it. Starting to feel sick and panicky, I keep trying to gain purchase on the pill.
Retching and gagging into the bathroom sink I spit blood and realize I have scratched my throat in my desperate groping.
I took another gulp of water and finally the tablet is gone. The gelatin must have finally dissolved enough for the pill to pass down my throat.
I am left with a sore and bloody torn throat for the day but am glad to not be lying, suffocated on the bathroom floor.
I make a note to myself to exercise more restraint in my pill swallowing.
Death by dog toy or pee
As I have shared in previous posts, I am mother to two adorable little dogs, Lily and Poppy.
Lily is long past the stage of having wee accidents indoors but Poppy, being only four months old, still has the occasional lapse in bladder control.
The problem is my hardwood floor does not reveal these little puddles very well, being basically pee coloured itself to begin with.
As I tend to walk around in socks it is all too feasible to imagine treading and slipping in a little pool of the amber fluid and hitting my head on the way down against the sharp corner of my oak worktop.
Furthermore, as Poppy is in full throws of teething, in order to attempt to stop her destroying my entire house, (mostly futile attempts it has to said), I have bought her countless chew toys to keep her occupied.
I have lost count of the number of times I have tripped over a toy she has abandoned in the middle of the floor, narrowly avoiding falling.
This little dog could be the death of me yet!
Death by dog blanket
Lily sleeps up on my bed but she has her own little bed next to mine, wherein resides her very favourite blanket.
Before Poppy arrived and forever altered our routine, we used to get up in the morning and Lily loved to bring me blanket and we played tug of war for a while. After this playtime I would usually have gone downstairs to make a coffee to bring back up to bed.
Without fail, Lily would have left blanket precariously perched on the top step of the stairs, directly in my path.
Negotiating my way around it with a scalding cup of coffee in my hand, first thing in the morning is one thing I do not miss about our old morning routine!
Death by spider
A previous post recounted my severe arachnaphobia.
There was a point at which the house seemed to be invaded daily by giant ugly eight legged freaks. It was a truly distressing time for me and I lived in constant fear and dread of the next unwelcome guest.
The OH researchd online and found me the most amazing, powerful spider killing spray available and bought me several cans.
The first time I used it I was amazed at the fast results and rejoiced. Any time I saw one, out came my trusty spray and, hey presto, problem solved. I could simply place a large bowl over the corpse and get on with my day.
The only downside to my new defence mechanism was the noxious, toxic fumes given off by the spray. Given that some days I had several encounters, coupled with my tendency to go overboard with things, I was never light handed with the spray and as a result there were several days I was forced to leave the house in order to avoid poisoning myself. Even upon returning after a couple of hours I found that the vapour lingered and I often needed to retreat upstairs.
How pathetic would it have been to end my life because in my attempt to kill my nemesis I inadvertently killed myself?
Since the arrival to the dogs, however, I have retired the magic spray and have resorted to my old panic attacks if I receive any uninvited visitors.
Thankfully, they seem to pop by less and less.
I suspect my two furry friends are finding them and possibly eating them for me. Thanks Lily and Poppy!
Once again, thanks for stopping by and reading my daft little blog guys and gals. I really hope you enjoy it and stop by again.