The photo you make fun of may be your own…

This morning, at breakfast:

Coombsie:  You know.  I don’t get the…selection process…that goes into pictures that accompany the death notices.
Me:  Mmmm…
Coombsie:  I mean, look at this one.  Why would you want that in your death notice?  Like, you’re dying, and you tell someone:  “Hey, remember that picture you took of me during our camping trip the morning I was hungover as fuck?  THAT’S the one I want in the paper.”
Me:  Mmmm…

Later in the day.  My phone rings.

Me:  Development.  This is Lisa.
Coombsie:  I feel bad.
Me:  Mmmm?
Coombsie:  So, that death notice I was making fun of?  I WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH HIM.  I went on Facebook and I had, like, a BILLION messages from people I went to high school with, which never happens, and they were all, “Ohhh, this guy died and here’s the information on the funeral and blah.”  I feel terrible.  I was making fun of this guy, and now it’s like he’s come back from the grave to tell me:  “You’re gonna die, too, and people are going to make fun of YOUR picture.”
Me:  Probably what’s going to happen is he’ll end up haunting our basement with your grandfather, your aunt, and all those cats that are buried in the back yard.
Coombsie:  Mmmm.

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