The weight of my obituary

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Source: stolen from urlspark.com

I want an obituary like this one when I die. (It's short. Go read it. I'll wait .... but not forever. While you're reading I'm going to write an aside to my children.)

Drake and Elvira, I want you to use the writing skills I taught you and send me off into the afterlife (or not, because tunnels with white lights shining at the end notwithstanding, nobody really fucking knows for sure, but I digress ....) in style. Please save the "bag of frozen peas" and "glitter crayon on the toilet" stories for the eulogy. Bad-mommy stories don't belong in an obituary. Also, please allow me to take the question "does the carpet match the drapes?" to my grave. Or urn. I don't care what you do with my body, just leave the question alone. Also, use a photo that has good boobs in it. Drake, Elvira will know what this means. I know you'll both want to put in something about how I love(d) the other one more, but suck it up, buttercups, because I love you both the same. Although that could change if somebody takes me on a cruise. Finally, don't forget to proofread. In fact, you can put that on my gravestone. Or urn. "She always proofread." It has a ring. Some people will try to persuade you to put something about vaginas on my gravestone. Don't do it. Future generations won't understand.

Drake. Elvira. Be like Terry Ward's kids. Don't write an obituary for your mother that puts people to sleep.

That is all.