Post-mortem cosmetic surgery? Over my Dead Body!

I’ve never really given a thought of how I would look after I kick the bucket, people staring at how my crows’ feet bore testimony to a life well-spent in crinkling with laughter and merriment. Or how my stiff hands that held the little posy of violets did not have French-manicured nails.

Maybe because know I would get cremated, and not have a priest reading at my memorial service what an irreparable loss my demise would be to the entire world, and what a great soul I was; while my loved ones wiped their eyes, lovingly placed those wreaths of white chrysanthemums at my head, sprinkle some soil into the casket that contains my stiff body, and walked away consoling each other, united in their moment of grief.

The very idea of me lying all by myself in a white shroud, my body shrunk by death, is enough to make even narcissistic me banish all thoughts of glamour from my mind whatsoever.

And replace it with a cold feeling of mind-numbing terror, little beads of perspiration trickling down my neck...

But seems like there is an entire group of people who have!

Toyed with the idea of perfecting their smile / hairdo / makeup.

Who are not necrophobic like me. And who take an inordinate interest in getting that perfect arch, an extra collagen pump in the lips (for good measure), and removing those blessed fine lines.

The difference is that they would like to get the above jobs done on them after they have left the world of the living.

So what do they do? Leave behind neat bundles with their attorneys or their family to make the final settlement (pun intended)!

Beats me.

They have even coined a fancy term for it - Post-mortem cosmetic surgery.

Spooky?
Eerie?
Quirky?
Or plain bizarre?

You decide.