I mean, really: very few of us die old in bed, surrounded by our loved ones.
That's the Hollywood ideal, but we can't all order that up.
As the old (terrible) joke goes:
I want to die in my sleep like my grandfather.
Not screaming in terror like the passengers in his car.
The dog didn't get away.
My mother read my recent message — ("Doggie Style") — to her dog, intending to help with his domestic absorption into my home and she immediately took him back.
Did she think me unfit to manage the dog's affairs? I prefer to think my note made the heart grow fonder.
Whatever. His return to the scene of his underfoot shenanigans dramatically increases the probability that my mother will shed this mortal coil eye-to-eye with the dog.
Which gets us back to the main point…
How Do You Want To Die?
Hoping no Net Cotton Content readers are named Louie or Louise (let me know if I'm mistaken), here are some alternatives:
Louis LaMonde, age 95, died quietly with a smile on his face, surrounded by his loving family….
Louise Lamplicker, age 85, went to be with her Lord after her parachute failed to open…
Louie Latoot, age 87, blew out of town and off the face of earth after running, jumping and standing still…
Louise Lipper, age 94, was gathered up in the loving vines of The Great Pumpkin after facing a truly fearsome trick-or-treater…
Louis Lasnake, aged 75, was reunited with Grandma in The Family Circus after a courageous battle with sun-dried tomatoes…
Louise Labomba, aged 65, finds herself in that awkward yet durable post-mortal phase after falling from a step-ladder whilst reaching into that high cupboard for the fancy salad plates…
Louis L'hitraot, aged 75, has canceled all future public speaking engagements due to his unscheduled pas de deux with Lady Laryngitis…
Louise Laffer-Teetee, aged 85, has lost her remote control for that last time due to what the coroner called a fatal lifelong dose of cathode ray tube exposure…
My Father's Plan
Though he didn't implement it, I recall my father, Art, of blessed memory, describing his planned departure from this life.
My maternal grandmother, Kitty, OBM, was visiting town. She had said, more than once, to her son-in-law, my otherwise respectful and loving father: "If you were my husband, Art, [this]" and "If you were my husband, Art, [that]."
Having heard enough of that, my father responded: "If I were your husband, I'd lick my nose and put it in the light socket."
Kitty roared with laughter. She just loved Art.
So, how do you want to go?