Thursday, September 3, 2009

Death Just Stops in to Say Hi, Leaves With Hurt Feelings

















Well, I'm just going to come out and say it. I am so hurt. I came all the way here from the other side with this basket of homemade goodies, and you pretended to not be home. Well, isn't that just typical? A week ago I stop by and take the soul of your Aunt Dorothy, we have some laughs. And now I can't get the time of day.

But what do you expect in this day and age? People used to walk into the sweet arms of Death with their heads held high. Now, they just roll over and shit themselves without a word of thanks.

As Emily Post always says to me when we're sharing our morning Pop Tart, "Death," she says, "people just don't know how to be polite anymore." And I could not agree more.

A few weeks ago, I took the soul of this guy, and his wife was completely discourteous. On her cell phone! She didn't even hear me say, "Excuse me, madam, but I will be taking Charlie's soul now. Please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss." She just stood there and continued to tell her sister Susan about the weird mole on her arm while Charlie lay on the ground bleeding from the head.

And the other day when that busload of frat boys on their way back from gang banging someone went off that cliff, all they could muster were several, "Duuuuuude"s. Emily Dickinson used to write me entire poems.

And then, today. My first day off in two centuries. I get up early, do some yoga with Gandhi, wrap up this shortbread, hop on the Death cycle, and pedal down here to deliver these treats. And what do I get? Screams of terror! Well, if you're going to be ungrateful, I'll take the cookies home and just give them to Scooter. He likes my baking.

What's that? Oh, Scooter? He's just your dead dog from childhood. Well, I guess he's my dead dog now. We have such fun together. I throw Woodrow Wilson. Scooter fetches him. Marie Antoinette lets him have cake. He loves it here. We curl up together every night in the chair, and your dad reads us Goodnight Moon.

Yep, it sure is nice around here these days. Too bad you had to be so curt when I stopped by today. Your grandma baked that shortbread.

3 comments:

Jen said...

Hahaha. Wonderful.

Dingo said...

I wonder...if you reheated that shortbread, would it taste like death warmed over?

Death said...

@dingo: I think it would taste like I peddled all the way from the underworld with it and the bitter tears I cried all over it when I was so rudely turned away.