Funny how a funeral can make you think of your own mortality.
Though I was a little jealous of the guy in the casket because he got the only warm spot at this graveside funeral. And he didn’t have to smile and nod as the preacher played a little number on the harmonica.
There are a few things I’d like to happen when I die.
First, I’d like for someone to just throw away everything in my underwear drawer. There is nothing in there that needs to be saved. In my dreams, my funeral would involve a huge toilet bowl so that I could be flushed to that great river in the sky. All the fish I’ve flushed over the years have made that journey look like a day at the park. The water park, to be exact.
Since I don’t trust my children to find the right toilet (and it would be embarrassing if my hips got stuck on that final bend before heading out to sea), I’m probably just going to have to settle for a lively cremation. That way, I won’t have to worry about what clothes the family picks out for me after my demise. This is a good thing since the vast majority of my family looks like rejects from the lost files of “What Not to Wear.”
Then, at the ceremony, someone could play a little jingle on the harmonica right before the big flush.
I’m not planning on pushing up daisies any time soon. And I’m not trying to make fun of death (or maybe I am… but not in a rude way… but in that way that says, “I’m not afraid of you, Grim Reaper!”… except I really am a little afraid of him because not being able to see his face creeps me out). I am merely writing down some of the random thoughts that played through my
sick twisted mind at the funeral for an older gentleman earlier today. Seriously, I hope that when I do die (a LONG time from now is my plan) that people will take the time to remember the good times and to laugh. That would be the biggest honor.