When I die, and yes, we can talk about this, you may say whatever you'd like to about me. You can call me pushy, bossy, cold, and even a hey she wasn't all that bad, and I won't mind.
You can say I've died, gone to heaven, passed away, bit the big one, gone to the other side, and went to volunteer with the Lord. I'm taking my final nap, pushing up daisy's, feeding the worms, that I'm in a far better place. I could be taking a dirt nap, being a coffin filler, resting my eyes for good, and doing research about death for my next short story.
I might be checking out all those virgins I keep hearing about, seeing what all my friends and family that have gone on before me are doing. I could even just be dead.
But whatever you do, please do not say that I'm the late Liz. I'm never late now, and I don't want to start being late when I'm checking out the compost.
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