When a shoebox just won’t do

On a recent road trip, I spotted a van that belonged to a casket company.

(Not that spotting it was any great achievement – it was in front of us on a two-lane road in northern Iowa for about twenty minutes thanks to road construction and a “Do Not Pass” zone.)

“Oh, look,” I said. “The company motto is ‘Because you care.’ That’s sweet.”

“They should change it to ‘As if you care,’” my husband commented. “You’re dead, so why do you care what your coffin looks like?”

“Good point,” I conceded, thinking Okay, we’re driving through Iowa discussing casket slogans. Totally normal for us. “Although I guess it depends on who’s buying the coffin – the to-be-deceased or another family member.”

“Or how about ‘It does not make any difference’?” he suggested. “Same deal. You’re dead, your coffin style isn’t going to make any difference to you, and it’s not going to change anything for anyone else, either. You’re dead. Get over it.”

“I know!” said my nephew in the back seat. “‘Boxes for Dead People.’”

Oh great, I thought. My sister-in-law will never let my nephew visit us again. Not only are we irreverent, but we make jokes about caskets.

“’When a shoebox just won’t do,” offered my daughter, also in the back seat.

I burst out laughing.

“You know – people bury turtles and small pets in shoeboxes,” she explained.

“I know,” I managed to get out. I decided to change the subject before it could get any worse.

“Oh, look,” I said. “We’re almost to Nebraska. And there’s a sign for the French Voyeurs Park.”

“Voyeurs?” my husband asked.

“No! No! I meant Voyagers,” I tried to correct my misreading. “Voyagers!”

“Oh ho!” my husband rolled on in a bad French accent. “The French Voyeurs welcome you to Nebraska!”

“Good morning, Nebraska! Ooh-la-la!” my nephew added.

“Don’t make eye contact,” my daughter warned us.

“Or go in any strip malls,” I said.

More laughter.

At least no one was asking “Are we there yet?”