Just in case

For the past week or so, I've had this strange kind of fluttery pulse thing going on in my left temple, kind of like the twitch I get in my bottom eyelid when I haven't had enough sleep.

And because a) M. and I went to a memorial service yesterday for an acquaintance who died young and unexpectedly, b) I am unhealthily obsessed with and perturbed by death, c) I cannot escape said obsession and perturbance because, well, I work with dying people, d) I am insane, e) it is gloomy outside, and f) M. and I are flying to San Diego tomorrow night so that I can attend a conference on -- you guessed it -- dying people, I feel it necessary and prudent to make a few requests in the event that the rapid change in air cabin pressure sends my pulse flying out the side of my head, and subsequently leads M. to have a quick and painless heart attack from severe anxiety at the thought of possibly having to go on without me.

1) There is a box of thank-you cards on our dresser and a list of Who Gave What at the shower -- actually, that list will probably be with me and in an untidy state, but contact our List Maker who, I am sure, commited everything to memory -- which should be matched appropriately and sent out as soon as possible, in keeping with my latest venture to be the fastest gay wedding gift Thank You card writer ever.

2) Everyone at our funeral -- or mine, anyways, as M. is less in favor or need of public praise and attention -- should take turns standing up and commenting in 60 seconds or less (with flexibility as needed) on How Groom Zilla Saved Their Life.

3) No lillies. They make me feel sick to my stomach and remind me of funerals, which would be appropriate in this case, but still...no lillies. M. knows this, but he may not be there to protect my air space from their pungent assault. Not even Easter lillies. Or callalillies. I'm not sure what those smell like, but we'll play it safe.

4) The wedding should go on without us. Two volunteers should wheel our urns (a miniature chicken pot may be more appropriate in my case, and a tiny KitchenAid mixing bowl for M.) across the lawn in little red wagons to say our vows -- if there is enough interest, a public wake and viewing is acceptable as long as Kiki is allowed in to fix my hair, but after that I think I'd like to be abbreviated into a small can of ashes in the interest of ecology and portability -- and then guests should take turns holding us on the dance floor. When "Take my Breath Away" by Berlin comes on, and after everyone has commented on the unfortunate double entendre, we should be placed on the Lazy Susan I just registered for on Crate & Barrel and spun gently in a circle. Spotlight is optional. Cannoli cake is not.

5) On our computer there is a file marked "NY Times Announcement." Whoever will be most effectively convincing should fill in any missing information and submit to the NY Times with the photo from our invitation and an appropriately sobby story. If they are only willing to stick us on the bottom right corner of the Obituaries section, that's nothing to shake a stick at and should be accepted promptly .

6) When everyone has returned from scattering us into the Adriatic from a canoe off the shores of Mykonos, an orderly line should be assembled outside our apartment door and everyone should take one token of remembrance -- registry items and clothing only, as our mothers may want their furniture and family heirlooms back. The KitchenAid mixer and the clay brie baker should be left for them as well. If someone cannot find a token to his or her liking, there should be a small pile of gift receipts somewhere on the kitchen counter.

7) In the event that we do make it back alive, various Welcome Home-appropriate gifts are available on any of our three Safe Return gift registries.

If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Bon voyage.