1. Being so uncertain about how long you’ll exist. You can decompose in anywhere from 20 to 1,000 years, so it’s kind of hard to know if you should Eat, Pray, Love it up and do a bunch of fun stuff immediately, or if you want to spread some of those activities out so you aren’t bored by your 500s.
2. You’re always worried someone is going to put groceries inside of you.
3. More specifically, you’re worried someone is going to put too many canned foods or heavy items inside of you and they’ll fall out of your bottom, and the person carrying you will be angry and throw your torn, flimsy carcass in the garbage.
4. Not wanting groceries inside of you but also feeling extremely hurt when someone chooses another option over you like, uh, I don’t know, paper bags. I mean, you can understand if they’re one of those earth saving folks who brings their own cloth bags, but if they straight up choose brown bags instead of you, that stings.
5. You know that most people don’t want you around their babies and children because they consider you dangerous, as if you’d ever (purposely) suffocate someone.
6. Worrying that the grocery store employee won’t be able to separate you from the other plastic bags, so they’ll lick their finger and get saliva all up on you to get a better grip.
7. Being perpetually afraid that someone might stuff you in a dark cabinet with hundreds of other plastic bags where you’ll remain for weeks, months – perhaps even years.
8. Worrying that the wind will manhandle you, blowing you around like a rag doll, but also kind of taking pride in the fact that you’re the modern day tumbleweed.
9. Being at the wrong party on the wrong night and knowing you’re at risk to have someone use you as a barf bag. You might just spend the night on the couch next to a drunk person as a precaution and experience nothing worse than dry heave false alarms, or you might be full of vomit within a matter of minutes. It’s pure torture.
10. Fearing that your sole purpose in life will be to help someone scoop up their dog poop.
11. Being disappointed in society because you’ve been drifting through the wind for several years, but your feelings are just now getting mainstream coverage because Katy Perry mentioned them in a song. Where was all this plastic bag empathy before Fireworks?