On the Dark Side

If you're a regular visitor to this space, you probably already know I have a dark sense of humor.

aka "Gallows Humor"

I'm pretty sure I got this from my dad. Lots of German ancestors.

In any case, I wanted to preface today's email with this call-out because not all of you may be in the mood for such shenanigans, so if that's the case, you can stop right here.

The dark humor thing seems to get stronger as I age. Maybe it's the all-pervasive realization that less of my life is before me than behind me. Perhaps it's the stunningly ridiculous world we live in. (I expect our nation's leader at any moment to pronounce that Gatorade is essential for growing crops.*) Or maybe I'm just in need of more therapy than my insurance allows.

Fortunately (for me), Mr. Ginley shares my gallows humor. And, alas, we have handed this down to our son. Who, a couple of Christmases ago, upon being provoked by his father, said he was going to gift him an urn that said, "Coming Soon."

I bring all this up because Mr. and I have been having an ongoing conversation about getting older and more infirm and what our end-of-life wishes are. Necessary but difficult discussions, to be sure. To make these conversations more palatable, we use humor.

For example, he says if his mental faculties go, he doesn't want to stick around, and suggests various ways to "make it look like an accident."

"You could put a pillow over my face when I'm sleeping," he says.

"But wouldn't an autopsy reveal that?" I ask.

"I'm not sure," he replies. "Not every cop is Columbo, maybe they wouldn't bother with an autopsy."

"But if they do, I'm heading for a life sentence. A little bologna is okay, but I don't want to make a diet of it. That's what they serve in prison, you know. And peanut butter and jelly. And I don't want a roommate who's going to be my life partner, if you know what I mean."

"Well," he says, ruminating. "Think of it this way. You'll never have to worry about where to sleep. You won't have to wander West 25th Street with a shopping cart full of blue bags. You get three squares a day. And, how much worse can it be than a nursing home?"

And so it goes.

Hopefully, we will win the lottery and our worries for the future will all go away. Or we will expire before our "best by" date.

In the meantime, we will count our blessings, hang on tight and laugh a lot.

It's just how we roll in the W.P.**

*If you haven't seen the move Idiocracy, you must.

**West Park, our part of town.