Hey, have I ever told you that I have cellulite? I do. Totally. And sometimes I feel a bit like a broken woman because, unlike the rest of the world, I really don't give it much thought. Maybe I've just learned to accept it as an unchanging fact (after all, if getting rid of cellulite were possible through reasonable means, don't you think Paris Hilton would have done it by now?) or maybe I've just got bigger issues needling up my noggin. If you have a weak moment and start to panic about the state of your backthigh (that's not a word, but it is now), consider focusing on these other pointless (but less psyche-damaging) concerns:

• Rogue Weather Balloons. What if one broke and then covered an entire neighborhood? Is anyone at work going to believe you when you call in and say you can't come to work because your entire house is covered in mylar?

• Your Favorite Band. What would happen if Beth Ditto decided that her life's goal was really to be the fat lady in some opera somewhere? What if the Postal Service never pull it together to make another album? What if Brandon Flowers decides he wants a solo career doing Barry Manilow covers?  What if the next Kelly Clarkson album sucks?

• Zombies. Do you have a plan for what you'll do if zombies attack? What if you're at work? What if you're at the store? Have you perfected your "go for the head" aim with a variety of blunt or heavy objects?

• Television. What if there's another writer's strike? What if the producers strike? Or the boom operators? What if this really is the end for Dwight and Angela?

• The return of bad fashions. What if Karl Lagerfeld somehow waved his wand and made acid-washed jeans cool again? What about massive shoulder pads? Parachute pants? Banana clips? Cosby sweaters?