When I die, I plan to have my brain frozen, so that some day in the future, when they come up for a cure for whatever killed me, I can be defrosted and saved. That’s assuming I die of natural causes and it wasn’t done in the kitchen, by my wife, with a knife. But, I guess that wouldn’t work well since the rest of my diseased body wasn’t frozen so I guess I’ll be cooling off until science can perfect a brain transplant whereupon my defrosted cerebrum can find a new home. I hope they find a better looking body for me next time. Or at least a healthier one.
I’m not sure I want my whole body frozen. If my cerebellum gets freezer burnt, no one will notice. But if I lose appendages to frost bite, that could get ugly. Besides, I know there’s not enough room in our freezer for all of me. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get edged out by the ice cream.
Which got me to thinking, and that is always a dangerous thing.
I just know that one of my kids–or their grandkids, and let’s face it, the apples don’t fall far from the apple cart–is going to leave the damned freezer door ajar, and then I’m going to defrost all over the floor. My amygdala and hippocampus will mix with the mint chocolate chip ice cream, and some green popsicles since no one ever seems to eat those. And what am I going to be able to do about it? I don’t have any hands or arms. I don’t have any lips to yell at them. I’m just melted mush dripping down the front of the freezer. I’m going to end up in a wad of Bounty paper towels in the trash can!
I tried to point all this out to them at supper time tonight, and I got less than an enthusiastic response.
How can they not care about their poor old dad ending up as melted slush in the trash can? And I’m the one that takes out the trash, so God only knows how long I’ll stink up that can.
I can see that I am going to have to give this some more thought.
But it will have to wait. I just ate some ice cream for dessert and I have a brain freeze at the moment. Can’t think . . .
Did I shut the freezer door?