The subject was bound to come up sooner or later. When we die, what do we want done with our remains? My husband decided he would prefer a cremation. I should get a nice urn and have his ashes sprinkled over water. I should rent a small plane and when the pilot is low and slow over the Gulf of Mexico, I am to release his ashes.
The problem I have with that plan is that when Scott used to take me flying, I was not the best passenger. He loved to take steep turns as I held on, leaning in the opposite direction in pure fear. I actually believed that if I leaned far enough, I could somehow level out the plane. It never worked. He also loved aerobatic flying. I was so grateful that the Pitts Special aerobatic plane was never mentioned for his release. The thought no sooner entered my mind and I heard him say, “I think I’d prefer being in a Pitts special doing a tail slide.”
Once we had his plan established and I stopped crying. He asked, “What shall I do with you?” His eyes looked sad. Neither of us enjoyed talking about these plans of our demise.
“I’d prefer to be stuffed,” I told him as I blew my nose.
He shook his head and said, “What did you say?”
I repeated, “I want to be stuffed. I want you to find a taxidermist who will make me look marvelous. I’m hoping they’ll have some sort of gel so you can pose me.”
“Why in God’s name would I want to pose you? You’ll be dead!”
This man is totally clueless! “If I die first and you bring women home, I want to be looking like serious competition in the bedroom. You know that Lifestyle Lift I want? Get me one with my insurance money.” I’m hoping that by the time I die, there will be scientific methods to keep me limber. I could be like a female Gumby. He put his head in his hands. “Seriously, you could move me from room to room. Since I’ll just have new stuffing, I won’t be heavy. If you’re sitting on the deck, just bring me out. Put a glass of wine in front of me and party on!” I was feeling much better now. Death didn’t seem so final and sad. I could still light up his life, so to speak, like a dim bulb.
Scott mentioned this idea to my brother-in-law and he suggested having a bag made to fit over my head so the women think I’m just a clotheshorse. “Now that is just disrespectful!” I growled.
The more I think of this plan, the more ideas I come up with. He could dress me to match the seasons and holidays. Since I’d be pliable, it would be easy to change my outfits. I could even be a decoration on our front porch. I could be Mrs. Claus at Christmas and be a witch at Halloween. The possibilities are endless!
He always wondered what I’d look like with brown eyes. This would be his big chance. He could purchase removable eyes on Amazon and a few wigs and I could be the woman of his dreams. The after world is looking pretty bright now.
Scott is calling me to go have a glass of wine with him on the deck now. I wonder if I should wait to see if he comes to carry me out. He’s going to need the practice!