The Afterlife

Years ago I discovered that the secret to a fabulous life is proper lighting. But since I began walking in the shoes of a forty year old, I have been wondering about that one highly guarded and secret ingredient that ensures a glamorous afterlife. I’ve looked high. I looked low. I watched Oprah and checked under the cushions on the sofa, all to no avail.

Then out of nowhere, the answer came from the most unexpected of places; The Procter and Gamble Company in Cincinnati, Ohio. I was reading about Fredric J. Baur, the designer of the Pringles potato chip container, who passed away early last month and had a portion of his cremated remains placed in a Pringles can which I assume was for Original flavor as opposed to, say, Spicy Guacamole. And suddenly everything popped and all the crumbs fell into place. If life is about lighting, then afterlife is most definitely about packaging. Duh.

The possibilities are not only mind-boggling, they are downright scary and should not be left to others to sort out. One must take one’s afterlife into one’s own hands to avoid an eternity in a sack of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos with a twist of lime. Those nasty, SHOUT!-proof cheese stains are enough to give Bree a nervous breakdown and don’t even get me started on what they do to a person’s breath. The last thing anyone needs in their afterlife are cheese stains and wake-the-dead breath.