If I DIE... These are the RULES

Okay, so I’ve been thinking about a lot of great things lately. One of them is wondering about when I’m dead. I have anxiety so strong that when I'm driving down the freeway, my mind goes a little psyco like this:

“What if I am driving, and a tire flies off of another car, and then I don’t even see it, and I get in a wreck and die. Wow. That would really suck. But it probably won’t happen. But what if…?"

Anyhow, by the time I have reached my destination, in my mind, I’ve died, my hubby has spoken at my funeral, and of course everyone thought I was a great mother and wife. Boooyyaaa! And at the end of the Funeral there will be a dance.

Yes, I said dance.

Okay, but it is after the funeral and flowers that the real discussion begins.

What if he wants to get remarried?

Can I make the rules?

Of course I can!

I try to talk about it with my hubby. Here’s how it usually goes:

“If I die, you had better get remarried. Men who stay unmarried their whole lives turn out weird.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “If you die, I can’t even think about it. I couldn’t remarry,” he says back. (Right thing to say, but not true.)

“Well, if you don’t remarry, you’re going to come to heaven a weirdo. I’ll be stuck with a weird guy forever. You have to remarry. But don’t worry, I’ve taken the complexity out of it FOR YOU."

"Okay...can we talk about this another time? I’m getting depressed," he says.

Get over it.

Rule number one:

"She must be fatter than me. She doesn't have to be huge, but she needs to struggle with weight."

He laughs. "Okay, got it! But you're really skinny so that will be easy."

Compliments. Compliments. Compliments. AWWW!!

That's fine as long as she is bigger than me.

Rule number two:

"She has to be uglier than me. I don’t want YOU to come to heaven with some hot chick on your arm. This would be intimidating as there is no plastic surgery in heaven. I have very few options while I’m there."

“You don’t need plastic surgery. You’re beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you, dear, but if you marry a hot chick, I will haunt you.”

Rule Number Three:

"She cannot be patient. I want her to be good with kids, but she can’t be patient. Or else the kids will be like, 'Wow you’re so much nicer than my 'other mom', she always yelled.' ”

He laughs. He knows he can’t argue with this one.

Then I ask him, “What are your rules?”

He simply says with confidence, “I’m not going to die. By the time I do, you’ll be so old; you won’t even know I’m gone.”

This is his sanity trying to balance me out. Good luck with that.

I’ll interpret that to mean, “Don’t get remarried.”

Now ladies, feel free to use these rules. But I recommend talking about it before you die or post them on a blog!

However, I plan on living until I'm old. Very old. But I like to control the situations even after I'm dead. Yes, I'm the ultimate control freak.