The other night TLW (The Little Woman) and I were talking
about my demise. The cardiologist has to make up his mind which procedure to
use to clear a blockage in my carotid arteries. Will he go medication or will
he go stent or will he just slit my throat and dig out the blockage.
My feeling is that he should slit my throat, and TLW would
like to assist him.
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| RIP-we wish we could say he was a good man. |
“Well, if I die, I die, I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Have you decided how you want to go?”
“Yes, the slit throat has a lot of possibilities and
probably will require the most cleaning up, that employs nurses and maintenance
men, good for the economy. Besides, if I go I want to come back and haunt
people.”
“Oh1 Please don’t haunt me, I’ve been married to you for 41
years!”
“That’s exactly the kind of talk that makes me want to haunt
you.”
Of course, since she went back to work, she is not up to the
latest daily chores that need to be done, like what day to put me on the curb
for collection. My feeling is Monday is such a drag, but there is no collection
of any kind, a good day for a party, Tuesday is garbage
day, she could droop me over the large black can in a black plastic lawn bag,
the can says 152, Wednesday is re-cycle day, bottle and cans, and newspapers, not really a good
day for me, Thursday holds the most promise. Thursdays they don’t collect
anything, she could lay me out, I don’t have to share the day with any town
collections at the curb, she could throw a lawn party, and Friday they can come and
collect me. Then you have the whole weekend to get over the fuss.
Planning my funeral will not be easy. First I want a turntable
that goes around with a mechanical hand the waves bye-bye. I want a card in my
breast pocket that says: “I hate when this happens!” and I want a kneeler that
people go to kneel on and I pop up, they stand and I go back down.
My last will and testament was all taken care of years ago,
she already has it all, and I leave to my kids advice, don’t ask for anything,
you ain’t getting it. To mom, she will get whatever money is in my wallet for a
new set of wooden spoons to replace the ones she broke on my head. I’ve already
arranged with my phone company to route all the sales calls I’ve been getting directly
to my coffin. (I will finally get even with the bastards)
You may think this is not funny, talking like this, but get
over it, it is. Besides, when I’m gone, you will have the last laugh since I
won’t be getting what I want anyway.
2 comments:
Just don't let the cardiologist mess with your sense of humor!
It's similar to what I said to the urologist when he did my prostatectomy: "I don't much care what you do, Doc, just don't mess with my skiing."
Good luck on whatever you do. Remember, the bad guys always survive so they can keep bugging the good guys.
Ken
Well Ken, I'll be sure to tell the cardiologist not to mess with your skiing!
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