Where There's a Will, There's a Dead Person

There are few things that can bring a person face-to-face with his or her own mortality with gripping reality.

A major illness… a near-fatal accident… a 30-year-old waiter who calls you “ma’am… ”

Or drafting your will.

Last week Dave and I finally got around to updating our wills. Since the last update over a decade ago, we have had two more children, lived in two more cities, and added one dog.

Mysteriously, however, my head remains free of gray hairs.

We sat with our fearless and patient attorney for nearly two hours adding up our assets (our mortgage, our minivan, and one unused waffle iron) and assigning our children to the care of my sister in the event of our deaths (bringing her total to seven kids and one dog) (sucka!).

I left Patient Attorney’s office feeling vulnerable and half-dead. But I did feel as though my affairs were in order, should Dave and I simultaneously and spontaneously succumb to Swine Flu.

Since that appointment, however, it has occurred to me that I may have a few more affairs to put in order before I take my one-way ticket to the endless chocolate fountain in the sky (at least, I hope there’s one).

In lieu of paying (another visit to) Patient Attorney for an addendum to my will, I have decided to leave my final, final wishes here on WeeklyJules.com, and am naming you all as co-executors of this addendum.

First, should I die before I get around to it, I would appreciate it if someone would be so kind as to dust off the exercise equipment in my house so my mourners will believe I had used it, right up to my dying day.

I would also ask that same person to fold the laundry I will have undoubtedly left in the dryer and pull all of the old condiments out of my fridge.

I will also need someone to pull out all the loose photos in the photo drawer(s) and put them into the scrapbooks you will find still wrapped in cellophane.

You will also need to remove memory cards from my camera and from the desk drawer and a few used up disposable cameras and a roll of film in the fridge, and get all those shots developed. I am counting on you to immediately and permanently discard those that make my butt look big, my hair look frizzy, and my face look pale.

And any photos that feature me sporting the Perm of ’86.

Also, I don’t have any plastic food storage containers with matching lids; I would ask you to toss them all and stock my cabinet with a fresh set from Williams Sonoma. Preferably before my mother gets there.

There are no less than 17 cookbooks in my kitchen, none of which have so much as a crease in the spine and will need someone to open, beat up, and sprinkle flour on them to make them look used.

On a related note, please destroy all take-out menus (located in on top of the cookbooks).

Actually, keep the one from the Thai place, they can cater the post-funeral meal. You will eat so well you will forget I am dead.

In my closet, I have a ball cap that belongs to a friend in Texas that I’ve been meaning to mail to her for 13 years; please return it to her.

And the “Gossip Girls” DVD back to Blockbuster.

And the 12-count mini-muffin tin back to my neighbor. From our last house.

I also have old pairs of giant cotton maternity underwear that I kept in case of a water shortage that would lead to a rationing of laundry. Please burn them.

And my bike tires need pumping, my shower needs re-caulking, my car needs vacuuming, my CD collection needs to be re-alphabetized, three blouses need buttons sewn back on, the dog needs a bath, and I have 11 bags of old clothes and shoes that are all ready to go to Goodwill.

My Facebook page, however, will most certainly be up-to-date.