Life & Style
Where There’s a Will
“So are you gonna come home with me?” the man asks.
“No,” I answer. “I just came here to dance.”
It’s been a heavy and intense couple of weeks. Before I end up on the dance floor with the very forward man, I have an appointment with a lawyer to have my last will and testament drawn up.
Where there’s a will there’s usually someone about to celebrate a milestone birthday. Such is the case when I get up the gumption to call a lawyer that a friend of mine recommends. I don’t have much of anything, but if I can keep my family from being entangled in a probate court spider web after I go to that great dance floor in the sky, that’s what I want to do.
Mortality is one tough mutha to face. So, I’m proud of myself for making the appointment. Actually going to it is another issue entirely. I’m nervous. Palms sweating, heart going a little faster than usual, I walk into the office and want to walk right back out.
The lawyer approaches me and says, “So you’re here to do your will.”
“Yes,” I reply. “I’m trying to be a grown up.” This has never come easily for me. I’ll admit it.
And so, the process begins. He explains how it all works and I nod. Then come the questions. What do I have? To whom will I give my assets? Simple. Easy peasy.
Or maybe not.
“Okay, so what happens if you and those you willed your assets to die at the same time? Say you’re all in a car accident and no one survives. Who gets everything then?” he asks.
I sit bolt upright in my seat. “Oh really? You’re going there?”
He seems like a really nice guy. I’m sure he knows this is awful. “Yes, I’m going there. I’m sorry but I have to.” He’s right. He has to go there and now so do I.
“Dag, this is harsh.” I can’t help but laugh, it’s so harsh. Due to the subject matter, I know it’s completely inappropriate to laugh. But then again, maybe because of the subject matter it’s completely appropriate to laugh. So I laugh, the lawyer laughs, and I answer the question.
After more tough questions I’m on the road toward home. I’m told the paperwork will be typed up on nice paper and I will need to return to sign it.
This is some somber stuff, to say the least. So, a couple of days later when Island Girl suggests we go to a local spot to hear a reggae band, I jump at the chance. What’s more carefree, more don’t-fear-The-Reaper than reggae music?
I dance with abandon. A man comes up and asks to join me. I nod. Then we both dance with abandon. When the song ends, he asks if I’m going to come home with him and I inform him that I’m just there to dance.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” he presses.
Some people can’t let go of an idea. It’s never been a habit of mine to go home with random men and yes, it may seem like this is the exact time I should go home with a random man. However, that’s just not me. Right now I want to kick up my heels on the dance floor, not on some stranger’s mattress.
A week later, my will is finalized. I have an appointment to return to the lawyer’s office to sign the documents. It’s pouring outside, a real frog choker. The news says there will be localized flooding and sure enough the sides of the road are lagoons. I drive slowly, careful not to hydroplane and get into a fatal accident on the way to finalize my will. That would be too annoying.
I get to the lawyer’s office and complete the finalization without fanfare. So, that’s it. An important item on my grown-up to-do list is checked off. I’m glad this necessary task is done, but I don’t want to think about it anymore. After all, I just came here to dance.
Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at email@example.com.
Juliana Gribbins is the Columnist for Zip06. Email Juliana at .