My mum has had awful stress declaring my dead dad dead. It was killing her but it made me laugh. Every petty little company or office wants the original death certificate mailed to them, and then take weeks to return it. Pensions, bank accounts, benefits, humanity I hate you.
She asked me what I'd learned from her ordeal. "Well, don't store your death plans behind a picture on the wall. And when you die I'm not going to tell anyone, I'm going to taxidermy you to your seat with a cup of tea in your hand, like Norman Bates."
She laughed.
I actually told the same joke to my dad before he died and he was fine with that, his one question was, "Who is Norman Bates?"
We used to live locally, your bank manager, insurance agent and whatever would hear when you die. Computer says no.
Biting the hand that feeds IT
