Uncle Artie was a man of the carnival. He traveled the country from coast to coast so many times, and there wasn’t a sucker’s dollar he couldn’t take.
When he died, his body was cremated and the ashes put into one of three urns.
His lawyer shuffled the urns around, and we chose.
Aunt Gladys came up empty.
Shuffle again. My dad thought he had it. Nope.
Unlike those two, Artie taught me all his tricks. I had the winner, and walked away with ten million dollars.
And his ashes.
(Don’t flush them all at once. They’ll clog the drain.)
One thought on “Uncle Artie”
Comments are closed.
I wrote this one about a month and a half ago.
So when it came up off the stack for posting, I pondered how inappropriate it would be, considering that she was, you know, kinda being cremated and her ashes spread today.
Then I realized, there are only so many ironic moments in life, and you must cherish them all, even if you have to wince while it happens.
-ls