Wednesday, January 09, 2019


Eli 17.5 came home for lunch.

"I've decided that I caught the plague," I said, and he raised an eyebrow. "I'll be dead in a few days, so I need to give you some instructions."

"I'm listening," he said.

"First: stay out of the bathroom," I said. "Use the one downstairs. We don't need multiple victims."

"I'll do that," he said.

"Second," I said. "I'd like an Evan-type memorial put up whenever you watch Major League Fishing or women's volleyball."

"Not a problem," he said.

"Third," I said. "Bury me, but only for two months. When you've decided which college you're going to, buy a hoodie, dig me up and put the hoodie on me, then steal the casket and take me somewhere for a Viking funeral."

"Yup," he said.

"I think that's it," I said. "Oh, and play in my honor for the rest of the season. 'Local goalie dedicates season to dead father'. With that kind of backstory, you'll be in D-1 in no time."

"Are you kidding me?" he asked. "I'll get drafted into the League with that backstory."

"I can just hear your first interview," I said. "My dad wasn't even that sick, but he died just so I could pursue my dream of NHL glory."

"Gamer," he said.

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