In Wills We Trust


This week, Mark and I finally got our asses in gear and started the whole process of setting up a will and trust for our estate. Our possessions barely qualify for an “eh” let alone for an estate, but we do need a plan in place for the sake of our spawn. I am not against thinking about my mortality and it’s always good to prepare for the unplanned, but my mind kept forming jokes as we went through the paperwork. Here is what I wanted to put as part of our Last Will and Testament, had our lawyer had any sense of humor about the whole thing. Instead I was “taking up her valuable time” by being “so childish” and that I needed to “stop making zombie noises.”

As for the person who would assume guardianship of our small children, Mark and I decided on a couple who would continue our parenting lessons of love, positive instruction, and appreciation for complex Bordeaux blends. So to help with any economic burden, we have established a fund for our children through their college years. In order to make the educational goals for our children clear, the guardians receive a bonus if both kids end up at reputable universities (with an additional lump of money if they chose a STEM career). Guardians will lose all bonus money if children decide that they want to be “Instagram stars” while ceaselessly posing for selfies in front of murals or taking photos of coffee milk foam. Should the guardians not steer the children into careers that will give them long-term workplace viability, Mark and I shall retain the rights to haunt them in perpetuity or until said STEM degrees are completed. I am pretty cranky when I haven’t had sleep; if I go without eternal slumber, I am sure I will turn into a raging spectral bitch.
But the kids shouldn’t worry too much about the money as we plan on going down in a blaze of glory if diagnosed with a terminal illness. Should I pass on after Mark, I fully intend on travelling to places I have always wanted to go: the Greek Isles, the countryside of Japan, Tom Hardy’s bedroom. Should Mark die after me, he will probably also travel the world, choosing to skip Tom Hardy’s bedroom. (His loss!)
As for our medical directives (what should happen if one of us is in a long-term coma or otherwise incapacitated), the plan is as follows. Should Mark be placed on life support and considered brain dead, I shall hold a pillow to his face until he stops breathing or until a nosy nurse comes and asks me what I am doing. As I am sure that I lack the upper body strength to finish the job, I will undoubtedly quit mere seconds into it and then ask the doctor to pull the plug. If I am placed on life support and considered brain dead, Mark is to bring his next wife to my hospital bedside where he will point out that she will never be as pretty or as funny as me. She will agree and then take the kids out for ice cream because I want to enter the afterlife in silence or while being serenaded by Leon Bridges singing Coming Home. (Addendum: the children may call the new wife “mommy” but she is to call them “Warrior Princess” and “Feral Man Cub.”)
As for all our possessions, Mark is demanding that he be cremated with our couch, as it is the first piece of furniture that he had a say in choosing. I will be cremated with all of my books except for “The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up,” as that may come in handy when our executor cleans out our house and the mess that W.P. and F.M.C. (see above) make on a daily basis. Mark demands that instead of a memorial service, mourners are invited to perform a 21 Irish Car Bomb salute (even if he dies due to an Irish car bomb- he would enjoy the irony). As for me, I would like a memorial service that includes Angry Orchard apple cider and Jack White music. It shall take place at some dive bar I would be caught dead in.

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