I took one of my sons out for dinner last night. I insisted on picking up the check. I enjoy spending money on those I love.
I know my sons worry about my finances, but until I have to ask them for money, it’s none of their business how I spend mine. This one worried aloud if I should be paying for this. I told him, “It’s twenty-five dollars. What else am I going to do with my money, if I don’t enjoy it while I’m still here?” I went on to explain “That’s twenty-five dollars you three won’t argue about when I’m gone. I’m keeping you from fighting over it.” He smiled and didn’t say anything.
It’s my money. If I want to enjoy it while I’m alive, I will.
I plan to die penniless.
They all know I don’t want to live, if I can’t get up and do for myself. I’ve researched the states that allow euthanasia. As we baby boomers age, I imagine there will be more of those states. I’ve told them to send me to Ohio with a note directing the taxi to the Euthanasia Clinic.
They’re going to love each other when I’m gone because there will be nothing left to argue about.