Don’t Let Them Find Me Like This
Posted on May 31, 2012
One day, I was staying at a friend of mine’s apartment while I waited to leave the country for a while to live with my Wifesy. I wasn’t used to this apartment and I went to take a shower. There’s the clue for you there, “wasn’t used to this apartment” because take anything mundane and then do it in a setting you’re not used to and it can be a recipe for disaster.
I got in the shower and everything was going smoothly. My friend had this super wide tub, almost like a jacuzzi tub, which is a rarity in a New York apartment. I noted the width and depth of the tub, as I was standing up and taking a shower. The tub floor had just become completely wet when disaster struck. I reached for the liquid soap and my feet came out from under me. Suddenly, my feet were up where my head used to be and it didn’t end there. My body went this way and that way for what seemed like minutes, even though it was only a second or two. To best describe this fall, I’d say it was like I was an unwilling participant in a luge event or that I was thrown down a water slide against my better judgement. Just when I thought my body in motion was going to come to rest, it would stay in motion. (Damn those physics professors and their proven theories!) My body went up one side of the tub and then down again, around the back, up the other side of the tub and down again. I have a vague recollection of trying to protect my cranium somewhere in there and I also remember saying to myself, “Don’t let them find me like this.”
Now, what did I mean by that? I meant, Lawd, don’t let this be the way that I die. It was so fast and so furious and so hard of a fall that I thought, surely, this is the way I’m going to go out. And I was none too happy about it. I pictured the doorman of my friends luxury apartment breaking down the door because the neighbors have started to complain about a smell. They walk into the bathroom to find me spread eagle – one leg in and one leg out of the spacious tub, a cross-eyed expression on my face, and a clear “NO!” formed on my lips. The doormen would talk about it with one another for weeks, “Remember the broad who turned 4G into a human slip and slide?” “Oh, yeah, I wish I had seen it happen…better than Sea World,” another might say. “A-holes!” I’d scream, just as I walked towards the light.
Honestly, I’d be cursing them all from hell. Because it’s not supposed to go down like that. I’m not working this hard and trying day in and day out to get this “person of good character” thing down to have it all taken away from me by a feckin’ tub.
I would prefer a “gentlemen’s death.” They say a “gentlemen’s death” consists of a man, who is quite long in the tooth, putting his pjs on one night, turning out the light and passing before the break of day. No pain. No embarrassment like being found on the toilet after a night at El Ranchito. None of that. Dignity, right up until the very last second.
That sounds nice to me. I’d like to one up it and add to the lexicon a “gentlelady’s death.” For me, this would consist of going out approximately ten minutes post orgasm, after my lover has fed me a spoonful of my favorite ice cream, wearing a power suit. I don’t know why the power suit, but it just feels right. And it says I made some money to any feck-wad who tries to say otherwise. I’d like to make some money, so I’m keeping it in the death fantasy.
I do not want to go out like that poor soul who made the Segway scooter. He was 62 years old when he took his Segway off-roading. Then he promptly fell off a cliff into a ravine. If I had created Segway and then died by the hand of my own creation, I’m sorry, but I’d have a beef with God. I’d be up in heaven chasing the almighty around. She’d have to run pretty fast in order to avoid the Segway tire marks I’d want to leave all over her white cloak. Kill me with my own creation and you’re at least going to get injured by yours – meaning me.
Hopefully, God and I have an understanding in that way and she knows to take me out gracefully. If not, at least I’ve left this post and much like a blogging last will and testament, you’ll all know how I really felt. If I were to go tomorrow, keep posting for me until I reach 365 days. I’ve got a goal to reach here.
But, most likely, I’ll still be around and I’ll have to do this sh*t myself. At least, I hope so. He-haw, he-haw, nervous chuckle, and sigh of gratitude.
Sweet Mother out.
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