Like, never doing my hair again. I'd get one of those buzz cuts Charlize Theron sports in the latest Mad Max movie. Sure, I'd look like the scariest version of myself. But life would be so easy without all the brushing and drying and conditioning. Especially with water being in short supply, which is a given during any decent apocalypse.
I would stop fussing about my calcium or Vitamin D levels. Ordinarily, this kind of thing haunts me, but I simply would not have time for that kind of worry anymore. Also off the list would be probiotics. I'd probably settle for chowing down on some garden dirt, or kissing the neighbor's dog. (All endorsed by certain unnamed guests on CBC radio.) Trying not to die would be the only prescription I would follow.
Having my teeth cleaned would be out. Instead of a trip to my dental hygienist, with its follow up lecture and emotional spanking, I would make do with a twig from a tree and a quick scrub. Perhaps I'd find dental floss in an abandoned Walmart. Either way, my choices would be limited, so I wouldn't have to feel guilty.
Wardrobe choices would be minimal. Since I hate to shop, I could reprise my wardrobe from the 80's and 90's. Baggy sweats and long, loose fitting shirts, plus the most comfortable, unhipster-like shoes I could find. In a real pinch, I'd borrow things from Clarence, like I did when I was pregnant. Men's jockey shorts, ladies. So comfortable!
Cleaning the house would no longer be a problem. Dusting, vaccuming, washing the sheets? Not anymore. I'd find some plastic or one of those space blankets to cover me while I cowered beneath a bridge or made myself at home inside a large culvert.
No more blogging, or writing of any kind. My hand has long forgotten how to work a pen and because of massive, world wide power failure, computers won't work. What will I do with all that time on my hands? Well. The world as we know it will have ended, so time won't be on my side, anyway. Problem solved.