But I’m Not Even Dead Yet

An envelope came in the mail the other day. Odd in a sea of junk, the canary yellow envelope was hand-addressed, in neat lettering. An invitation to buy someone a gift, perhaps: wedding, graduation, house-warming, anniversary, or heaven forbid, a reunion. There’s a reason I didn’t attend any of the previous boarding school reunions, not like I made any friends there, and I’m not about to start now. I set the envelope aside and promptly forgot it. Or at least I tried to forget it. The yellow abomination taunted me from the dining room table, yanked at my attention every time I wandered into the room, until I realized, I was wandering without any more purpose than to wonder about the envelope. So, in order to assuage my curiosity, I sliced the envelope open. Inside, I found a summons to a legal proceeding: the reading of a will. Also inclosed, I found a business card of a lawyer. My lawyer, and the last will and testament he would be reading was my own. What was going on here?

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