Two Dead Birds

When we were driving to Ikea on Saturday (ah, I get starry-eyed just thinking about Ikea), we passed about eight hundred million soccer fields with kids in various stages of running around and standing around. One of the sites particularly caught our attention because it was located right on the Bay with the wind blowing and whipping and parents huddled on the sidelines in blankets and drinking, probably, something hot and maybe even spiked with something else.

The field had a big sign and it said something like, "The Joe (or John?) Somebody Memorial Soccer Field." I had the opportunity to read the sign and peruse the event quite closely because, at that moment, of course, we were sitting in traffic while drivers slowed to a crawl to examine an earlier accident.

It was all very nice (the field, not the accident), but I can not imagine having a soccer field named after me, after the fact of my existence. True, I don't "get" soccer--kids running all around at all times of the day and night (seriously . . . is there ever not a soccer game?), games with a final score of 1-0, and the fact that soccer would take precedence over a child's, I don't know, presidential inauguration or something. The only thing I could think of that would less suit me (as a memoriam) may be a hockey rink, where men skate around with missing front teeth and hit each other with sticks when they get mad.

So I asked my husband, what he thought would be a suitable memorial for me, should I ever be in the situation of requiring one. We discussed the concept at length, largely due to the afore-mentioned traffic, and considered the options. A beautiful garden, a culinary device of some sort, a shihtzu rescue center. We eventually concluded, however, that a new tictac should be made just for me. And not those little tictacs (those are for amateurs!), but the big ones. The flavor? Diet Pepsi Vanilla.

Kinda kills two birds with one stone.