My father died about a year ago.
I have no idea what was done with his body.
Some creep from the hospital kept calling about it.
“We need to know what to do with the body.”
“Take it home for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“WHAT?”
“Not to eat. That would be sick. Just sit him at the table.”
“WHAT?”
“Come on, that’s less sick than eating him. I think. Just don’t expect him to say grace.”
I don’t remember what happened after that.
I blocked him like all the other callers and turned off my phone.
And picked up pizzas for Thanksgiving.