Last week a friend posted on Facebook that she wanted someone, anyone, to come to her funeral dressed as the Grim Reaper, with scythe in hand, and stand silently at the back.
How cool is that? And then I read that having dead bodies posed at funerals is becoming the big new thing in the States. Death is being claimed as the final depiction of the living.
What am I talking about? Well, one example given was of a woman who attended her own funeral, propped up with a glass of Champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
That’s just bizarre. But once you get away from the strangeness of it all, you can see where the playfulness begins.
Never mind the drink and the fag. Think of all the fun that you could have imagining a scene in which your corpse takes centre stage.
Always wanted to wear that dress which was deemed too darn inappropriate?
When the clothes are sorted, you’d have to consider the pose – seated, standing, flying through the air on a trapeze?
Should it reflect something that you have done in life, or is it much more fun to re-invent yourself as someone else altogether?
I’ve always been quite convinced that I should have stuck with gymnastics and become a trapeze artist – and that pose would surely suit the dress as well.
I could be sparkled and bedecked and bejewelled and no-one would be able to say that I looked like mutton dressed as sequined lamb because it’d be my funeral and everyone would have to be uber-nice to me.
Perfect. Mind you, flying gracefully overhead as mourners sing my favourite hymns would rather play havoc with my hair.
Part of the new trend is having pictures taken with the deceased.
I reckon it’d be like going to a waxwork museum, only you’d be the only exhibit.
Why would anyone choose to pose for a picture with a copse?
I’m really not liking this too much. But on the plus side as the corpse, at least your cheeks wouldn’t hurt with smiling and there’d be no danger of your lipstick smudging.