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.”

Awkward.