In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”
WordPress’s Daily Prompt today asks us to write our own obituary. I thought it would be fun, so here it is:
She was a nice enough woman, but so stupid! She never listened, or if she did, she always did the opposite of what was recommended.
When, at the age of four, her mother told her she would be sick if didn’t stop eating those un-ripe blackberries, she kept eating them and was, indeed, sick, for two days.
At six years old, somebody foolishly gave her chewing gum for the first time, and she was playing with it, fascinated by the way it stretched. Her mother got the strange impression that she was about to wrap it around her neck, and told her not to, because it woould stick like glue and have to be scrubbed off. Nothing could have been further from her mind – until it was mentioned. Her mother was right; it did have to be scrubbed off, and cut out of her hair.
Then there was the occasion when she was advised not too get in the highchair, because she was too big, and she would get stuck – her little sister had to learn to sit at the table with the rest of the family, because the highchair was too damaged to repair.
Fortunately the baby clothes were too stained to be used by the time she put them on, but her mother accidentally scratched her with the scissors while she was cutting them off.
Even as an adult she tended to ignore sensible advice. There was the time she found that bottle full of an un-named fluid in the garage, and her mother-in-law warned her just as she was about to take a sniff of it. She ended up flat on her back on the floor that time.
Then there was the lipstick that she happened to find two hours before her niece’s wedding – well, I suppose the incident was partly down to the celebratery pre-wedding drink – she was warned not to do it, but she thought it would be funny to use it as rouge, planning to clean it up before the ceremony. She didn’t believe the words emblazened on the tube which claimed that it would stay onfor 24 hours. She sat through the wedding with her hands over her cheeks, covering a scarlet blush that wasn’t entirely natural.
So when it was carefully suggested that she needed to switch the electricity off before connecting the new cooker, and that, anyway, she should leave it to an expert to do, nobody was particularly surprised.
Still, it all came out OK in the end: it just happened that the undertaker happened to be an electrician, and he, most kindly, came round and wired the cooker in at no extra charge, so we were able to cook a decent evening meal.
© Jane Paterson Basil