The Wrong Wake

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Short monologue.

Who knew?  I’m finally at my own funeral wake. The funeral service itself was a nice affair, by the way, just the right mix of hostility and hysteria. So, now I’m at the wake and I feel good because, I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m listening to a group of people I’ve never met say what a great individual I was and how things will never be the same, that I kept a neat wallet and how my death will likely throw a new perspective on the future of European society.  Plus, I even spot someone wearing my glasses, you know, so it doesn’t get much better than that. And amazingly, I don’t hear a word of complaint, no negative messages, nothing about how my life was a little topsy-turvy or that I was selfish at times, greedy, egocentric, jealous or even that I welched on occasion. The food too is really great, terrific in fact although there isn’t much choice, mainly red lentil stew, hard-boiled eggs and bagels. Suddenly, I realize I’m at the wrong wake. I have no idea whose wake this is and I start to feel like I’m only here to bolster numbers. Then, I find out…I can’t believe it but I discover my son hasn’t even planned a wake for me. Instead he decided to spend a pile of money on holidays and claim it back off the estate. But the joke is on him because for the last ten years I put all my money into hanging loose and now I’m all out. 

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