My Uncontrollable Fear of Breakfast

Every morning I wake up terrified at the prospect of what is to come. You might think this is hilarious but I tell you it’s not. Just the thought of it makes me wish for plastic bed-sheets.
There are hundreds of things that could go wrong at breakfast, which could kill me. I could choke on my bagel or I could get electrocuted by the toaster or I could burn my mouth on a Pop Tart or I could slice an artery when buttering my muffin or I could go into anaphylactic shock from a pecan Danish or I could get a pip from the jam in my eye or I could slip on some rogue marmalade on the floor or I could get salmonella from a bad egg or I could have a heart coronary from the bacon fat or I could fall asleep when cooking the sausages and burn the house down (again) or any one of the dozens of different nightmare scenarios which render me useless every morning.
The upside is that it can be controlled. Much like avoiding stepladders or stepping over pavement cracks, there are loopholes that can save my life. If I don’t eat until, say, ten a.m. I’ll live. I don’t have a fear of brunch; that would be just stupid.