Funeral Derangements

_{Prompt –  A spelling, grammar, or autocorrect/spellcheck error that changes the meaning—}

“Good mourning,” the funeral erector sez.  “Pleas let me say first how sordid we are for you’re lost.”

“Thank you,” I replies, shaking his handy.  “My father was a fine felon and will be gratefully mist.”

“Well, let me insure you,” the morticianist continues, “we will do our upmost to respecked his mammary.  Can you remined me of his name again?”

“Dustin Ashe,” I sez.  “And I want him created, not embombed.  Therefour, I don’t need a cask, just a simple earn for his remands.  I’ve already axed that the earn be interned in you’re cremauditorium.”

“Very well,” the undertakeist sez.  “Our corpse of attendance are the very best pathologicals in the business, and I promise you will be satiated with their work.”

“My father didn’t describe to any particulate religious sex,” I sez, “so I’ll be wanting a non-denominatorial, ecunomical service, with no preying, no homelies, no speaking in tongs.”

“I understand, sir.  Will there be hymns?”

“Yes, there’ll be both hims and hers in the coral assemble I’ve axed to preform at the service.  My father sang basso-profoundo in the group before he past.  Everyone sez he had a maleficent voice.”

“Wonderful,” the morticianer sez.  “And will the quire be needing an orgasmist?”

“No,” I sez.  “No mystical instruments.  They sing a capillary.”

“Lovely,” he sez.  “What about an elegy?  Will someone be speeking from the pulper?”

“I’ll look after that,” I sez.  “I’ve alreddy written the epilog for the plack on his earn, so I’ll incite that allowed.”

“Will you need a micah to exemplify your voice so everyone can here you?”

“No,” I sez.  “When you dye at my father’s age, you don’t leaf many friends or familials behined.  The only intendees will be me and the quire-membranes.”

“Write, sir,” the undertakerist sez.  “Sew, I think we’ve disgust just about awl there is to cover.  There is only the matter of our bill to infirm the derangements.”

“I think I tolled you I wanted the basic service when we first tocked,” I reminds him.  “No frills, no flours, no feetishes.”

“Indeed you did, sir, and that is incisely what we are pervading you.  You’re total cost, including tacks, will be slitely less then $1200 for the deplete package.”

He hands me a letter detaining his statement, printed neetly beneeth his letterhead—Grieve & Moen, E-Z Funeral Derangements.  I quickly reed it and no its correct to the tinyest detale. 

The letter is signed—

Yours eventually,

Will Grieve.

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2021}