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Clutch Bags and Tears?

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So, I didn't get a Valentine's Day card this year. But I'm not here to talk about that. In fact, I consciously made the decision to leave this month's blog till after the dreaded day for singletons so I wouldn't have to talk about it.

So, what does Naomi bring you this month? I thought about writing about how I haven't seen wood lice in over ten years, but that's just weird right? So, I'm going to write about my funeral. Because that's not weird at all. The reason I'm writing about my funeral is because a friend of mine out of the blue recently said to me "If you die any time soon, can I have your clutch bag collection?" So this got me thinking. I thought, as far as health is concerned, I'm in good health, so my funeral is probably a long way off. However, there is always the possibility I could get pushed onto the tube tracks on the Victoria line, or get shot by my stalker I mentioned in last month's blog. So death is sometimes on the back on my mind, along with the possible bullet hole. My clutch bags, as well as my clothes and fabulous shoes are happily left for my friends. I'm fine with that (as long as you look after them girls!) But what if family members come and clear my room, finding all my hidden secrets. Letters, diaries, dildos. Now that's not going to be good for me. Dead OR alive! And since I've started thinking about my possible death, I've been deleting my internet history each and every night... JUST in case. I don't want people finding out all the odd things I've been curious about over the years! I've never told anyone I've had a secret interest in Hitler's love life.

And to my funeral - So much to think about. Where will it be held? My home now in London, or Cheltenham, where I was bought up? What music will be played? Madonna? A bit of trance? Or will someone just whack on Jamiroquai's Going Deeper Underground? And the biggest question of all - What if no one turns up?! I can see it now, my glamorous ghost is hanging about all day waiting for some massive party, with 500 friends and family all dressed in gold sequins and neon pink, crying into Kleenex tissues wondering how they will cope without me, but instead , no one turns up. They forgot to write it in their diary. That's scarier than death itself! I hope my narcissistic mind isn't putting too much pressure into how turned out my funeral is going to be. But doesn't everyone want to be remembered as someone who is fabulous? I think we all have a little slice of narcissism in us. Some more than others of course.

And dying young, free and single? Now there is my chance for two fingers up to all the guys who ever turned me down or hurt me. Open casket, dressed in a thong made of sweets and nipple tassels, showing them what they could have had! The perfect ending to Naomi Hefter's life.