Rushing up to the undertaker’s office, I am hoping to see some rusted old-fashioned medical tools.
With a hand on the door, I notice an old man with an overweight golden retriever and an oversized cowboy hat.
“The undertaker died” he said in his gravelly voice.
I summon a nervous pity laugh, and wait for the second half of the joke.
“The memorial service was lovely, we held it about two weeks ago.”