All good things come to an end, so for Plan Your Epitaph Day (yeah it’s a thing) we put some thought into how we’d like to be remembered.
I dread dying in an amusing way – tripping over a string of sausages and falling down the stairs or something – and then everyone at my funeral laughing and saying, “It’s what she would have wanted.”
So just to set the record straight, it’s not. I want full mourning, a solemn service and the TARDIS sound effect as the curtains close round my coffin. And my epitaph? “Beloved, respected, missed.”
I’d like what a former editor once said to me, “She’d have been great on Smash Hits.” Still the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.
On the basis that I seem to remind anyone I’m ever romantically involved with that they are still in love with their ex: “She was good, but she was not the one.”
She proceeded until apprehended.
She did her best.
Nevertheless she persisted.
She never married. Which means you probably owe her a tenner.
In death as in life, still holding out for that growth spurt.
Her bed was her office.
Where’s my phone?
Quiet, at last.
In very small lettering: “If you’re reading this, you’re standing on my face.”
When I was very young we found this epitaph for a dog on a memorial outside Fishguard in Pembrokeshire: “Stop stranger! Stop and shed a tear. For Frantic the Hound lies buried here.” I’d like that and also please start to call me Frantic, thank you.
She was always patient and kind, except when she was hungry.
Lili la Scala
She lived. She loved.
Don’t fuck with me.
Some of Standard Issue's brilliant women's carefully crafted words for your reading pleasure.