I Want To Be Cremated

The following is a loose recounting of a recent conversation I had with my wife about drawing up a will.

"Honey, it's not right to have all these children do all our tasks and chores."

OW! How many times I have to tell you, the nail on my big toe is sensitive! (slap!)You were saying honey?

"Never mind."

The other day my wife and I were talking death. Specifically, about the fact perhaps it was time to set up a will. And as usual I was at peak maturity.

My first response to the suggestion was, "What, so I can decide who gets my marshmallow art?"

"Can you be serious. Like, ever?"

As the conversation painfully moved forward as I chomped down on lemon cookies, I revealed to her I wanted to be cremated. Not only did it shock her it was even met with some resistance.

"I know I'm going to regret asking but why do you want to be cremated?"

Wiping the crumbs from my lips, I explained to her I don't need people who didn't give a shit about me gawking at me lying in a casket all useless saying things like, 'hey, he looks good!'

Unmoved she replied, "Yeh well, I'm not doing it"

"But these are my wishes. You have to respect it! R.E.P..."

"I don't think I can cremate you."

"First of all, you may go before me and second it's better that way. You can place me next to all the other useless vases on the shelf."

"I guess."

"Oh, I want you to put me in my Fonzie mug....and make sure you annoy everyone by playing loudly the following list of songs..."

'The themes to Magnum P.I., Taxi, The Littlest Hobo, WKRP, Cheers, The A-Team, Different Strokes..Now the world don't move to the beat of..."

'That's enough..."

"...Just one drum..."

"Stop."

"What you talkin'..."

"STOP!"

"Well, it's what I want."

So on and on we went including me singing "I want to be cremated to the Ramones' 'I want to be sedated'."

Unimpressed with anything at that point in the conversation she blurted, "You truly need to be."

"Be what?"

"Sedated. Like half your family."

"I think we need more than sedation, hon."

Being a caring, dedicated libertarian who believes in choice, I offered her more options.

"Well, I suppose the least I can do is give you other suggestions."

Given her expression, I don't think she was encouraged. She knew she wasn't going to like it.

"Wellll, you can bound me up into a book. Hm. Come to think of it. I need to get cracking on 'How to raise a private family of orphans to advance the libertarian cause and profit from it!"

"You're mental."

"Why? Beats the hell out of being buried six fucken feet into the ground doing nothing for humanity in death! This way, I can, you know, educate people....from Heaven.'

'You're mental.'

"Why do you have to be so Lileth all the time?!"

At this point she's on her way to ignoring me and closing the conversation.

"Okay. Fine. FINE. Here's another one. You send me to a taxidermist and have me formed into a position I want. I'm thinking a Scooby-Doo villain. Like this..."



"You're. Mental."

"Yeh. Whatever. Sand the floor. Wax on, wax off."

"You're mental."

"It's not like you don't have choices!"

"Which earn urn did you say again?"

"Aieee...."