Dead Girl Makes Great Date

At book club we’ve been reading Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth since August 12, 2010. I joked with my friend, Anita, that we’d probably never finish the book and end up taking Eckhart to the grave with us. Each month we’d only go through a few pages. It’s not that we’re just learning English or that we find consciousness such a difficult topic to absorb, but we girls can talk!

Imagine my surprise when we finally completed the book March 14, 2012, 19 months after we began.

In the last chapter, Tolle wrote about how Western societies have little respect for the old, who when they’ve breathed their last, aren’t seen anymore. It’s as if death should be hidden. I commented that two of my friends had died in November, as well as two uncles in recent days or months, and cremation has taken the place of the wake.

“We travel from different parts of the country or world these days,” I said, “so it’s hard to get people in one place quickly. Of course, I certainly don’t want people looking at my dead, old body.”

“Well, at that point, you’re gone. You shouldn’t care,” Diana said.

“Yeah,” I continued, “friends would probably look at my corpse and say, ‘Gee, she looks pretty good all plumped up. No more wrinkles.’”

To which Diana volleyed, “Yes, death really becomes her. She should’ve died a long time ago. She looks really good!”

“I can see it now, pictures of the new dead me circulating on the Web. ‘Lookin’ better than ever. The new dead Auntie.’”

“We could put your face on match.com!” Diana exclaimed enthusiastically. “You know, just the head shot taken from the casket.”

“And the pitch: ‘Doesn’t say much. Quiet by nature.'”

“Not much trouble. Cheap date,” Diana threw in. We were on a roll, laughing so hard, tears flowed down our faces. Our other book clubbers couldn’t keep up with the speed and sat with mouths agape.

“Won’t embarrass your family,” I threw in, thinking of my past.

“Discreet.”

“Focused and attentive. A good listener.”

“She doesn’t look so tired. Must be getting more rest.”

“Gotta get the name of that hairdresser.”

“Check out her nails.”

Maybe they’ll even give me boobs.