Epitaphs and food poisoning…

Robert’s post on epitaphs was quite timely for me, since I felt like I was at death’s door most of the weekend. The doctor confirmed yesterday I had probably been debilitated by a food-born illness, confirming what I suspected from the minute the abdominal pains set in. I’m on two separate antibiotics now, which I’m sure are helping, but I think it will be a couple of days before I’m feeling like my old self. I’m still not sure of the actual source of the contamination or where I consumed it, which is the unnerving aspect of the whole gory incident.


I couldn’t resist imagining what my family might have put on my tombstone had I succumbed to this vile ailment. Perhaps:


She died of an infected tummy.

(But at least the meal was yummy!)




Done in by a tainted dish,

her final words: “Don’t eat the fish!”




“Mmmm!” she said, and cleaned her plate,

whereby she met an awful fate.




She’s passed on to a higher plane

where there’s no danger of ptomaine.



Those are nice and economical (in more ways than one–epitaphs ain’t cheap). However, I’m sure my loved ones would spring for something with a little more “substance”:


Beloved food,

her fickle friend,

destroyed poor Nancy

in the end.




Nancy lies beneath the sod,

thus endeth her ordeal–

brought down by hands that weren’t washed

before they fixed her meal.



Actually, I intend to be cremated, so the issue of what goes on my tombstone is moot. However, I noticed there’s a growing trend toward cremation jewelry. Cool, maybe swag bags with a pendant for each person who attends my wake (with live music, ceili dancing, and flowing Guinness, please note)…



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