Tiki has instructed me to ignore the advertisements on television that advise one to invest in a plan to cover the expenses associated with one’s funeral, for she has my obit already planned.
I am to pass away on a Sunday evening, but not before I will have staggered up our steep driveway and with my last fading breath just summon enough life to tumble into our plastic Otto ‘wheely’ bin.
She’s advised me not to be concerned that my legs might prevent her from shutting its lid, for she’ll take whatever measures might be deemed necessary to ensure that the covering should fit flush with the container’s rim and, therefore, not raise suspicion in the mind of the collector of our garbage, that next morning.
Because Tiki has always maitained that when she met me I was in the ‘gutter’ and not looking at the stars, she believes that the disposal of my body in such a manner would be a most apt one.