Thursday Specials ~ Epitaphs

Here lies poor dear Blanche –
Got run down by an avalanche.

Here lies the body of my sweet sister;
She was just fine ’til Dracula kissed her.

Here lies Henry Blake
He stepped on the gas
Instead of the brake.

Here lies the popular Kevin O’Toole
He thought it was cool to smoke at school.

Here lies Captain Gregg –
He got termites in his wooden leg.

Here lies the body of our Anna
Done to death by a banana
It wasn’t the fruit that laid her low
But the skin of the thing that made her go.

Here lies Kelly
We buried him today
He lived the life of Riley
When Riley was away.

Here lies a poor woman who always was tired
For she lived in a house where help wasn’t hired
Her last words she said were, “Dear friends, I am going
Where washing ain’t wanted, nor mending, nor sewing
Where all things is done exact to my wishes
For where folks don’t eat there’s no washing of dishes
In Heaven loud anthems forever are ringing
But having no voice, I’ll keep clear of singing
Don’t mourn for me now, don’t mourn for me never
For I’m going to do nothing forever and ever.

โ‰ˆ

โ‰ˆ

With thanks to my school pal, Noreen for these. I wonder if she is trying to tell me something? I am after all, older than herโ€ฆ. Eleven days older! ๐Ÿ˜ฆ

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23 thoughts on “Thursday Specials ~ Epitaphs

  1. Interesting. Though the “poor woman’s lament'” doesn’t chime with me at all. I need to earn my crust – which takes time. Yet have never ever resented all that comes with running a household. I dread the day when no one ‘needs’ me any more.

    You having grown up in a large family (mostly boys) sometimes allude to that certain resentment. As does my mother who, by way of example, loathes ironing. To be fair: I believe to be the only woman in the world who positively loves ironing. I look at it in a philosophical way: Creases to be smoothed out. Isn’t that marvellous?

    Even more marvellous. All those hours of household toil, busy with my hands, giving me time to think. Though am sure there are people who’d rather I didn’t.

    U

    • Growing up, I was only resentful of the fact that I was supposed to fill my mother’s shoes and produce meals to her standard as well as washing and ironing the shirts, sheets and tablecloths etc., while I was still a schoolgirl. I was small in stature and in weight, so peeling & then lifting a pan large enough for about twenty eight x eight ounce potatoes, or a large pot of stew, or a large roast, in and out of the oven was even more difficult when they were hot. Is it any wonder my arms are so long these days? You seem to have missed the fact that most of my rants were tongue in cheek. No point in having brothers if I cannot blame them! ๐Ÿ˜‰

      As for ironing, bring it on. A good play on the radio or music with a good beat, a few toffees to chew on and I will iron until the cows come home!

  2. Loved this, absolutely loved it–especially after my stint in Singapore….thank heavens for daughters…she has made my life most comfy and is giving me extraordinary treats. The Lord & Master’s cooking has to be done though!! Ha, ha. I am copying the last verse and hope it will be my epitaph. However I may be the leader of the chorus, off tune alright but belting away numbers…definitely not the one who avoids it.

    • Good! Are you back in Chennai? I have enjoyed you foodie videos.We must catch up on Skype soon.

      I might join the back row of the croakers in your choir!

  3. I was rolling on the floor after I read about Kelly!

    My epitaph:
    Here lies poor Al
    Though he lived a life of good
    He’ll only be remembered
    Because he was a Hood.

    • Very good hood!

      Al, I came across this one the other day.

      I am just going outside and may be some time ~ Captain Lawrence Oates (1880โ€“1912)

      Do you think he is one of Barbaraโ€™s inlaws?

      • That definitely sounds like her kind of humor alright.

        One of my favorites has always been:

        “I told you I wasn’t feeling well!”

        • I don’t think you were around when I wrote about my visit to the house where Bram Stoker was born. It was on my old blog which is down at the moment as the Toyboys sort out moving the over 2,000 posts to the one place.

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