Shannon’s house was packed. Friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, and even a few people who weren’t entirely sure how they knew her but came anyway because they knew Shannon’s husband Evan.
The spread was impressive: mini quiches, BBQ bacon‑wrapped water chestnuts, tiny sandwiches cut into shapes that suggested Shannon had spent too much time on Pinterest, amongst other items. Everyone mingled, laughed, and tried to guess what the occasion was. But then Shannon clapped her hands and said, “Alright, everyone, follow me.”
And like obedient, slightly confused ducklings, they followed her down the hallway… into the master bedroom… and then into the master bathroom. A bathroom was large enough to host a small conference. A bathroom with a soaking tub, a double vanity, and most importantly, a toilet that suddenly felt like the main character.
People exchanged looks. Someone whispered, “Why are we in here?” Another whispered back, “Maybe it’s a home renovation reveal?” A third muttered, “If she asks us to help install tile, I’m leaving.” Finally, someone asked Shannon directly, “What’s going on?”
Shannon smiled with the serene confidence of a woman who had planned something deeply unhinged and was proud of it. She turned to the minister she had invited.
He cleared his throat, opened his little black book, and began solemnly, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Shannon’s husband, Evan.” It was then that some realized they hadn’t seen him.
A collective gasp rippled through the bathroom. One guest raised a hand like they were in a classroom. “Um… why are we doing this in the bathroom?” Shannon clasped her hands, beaming with the enthusiasm of someone about to reveal a surprise she’d been dying to share. “Because,” she said, “after the minister is finished saying a few words, we will be flushing Evan’s ashes down the toilet.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
One quest choked on a mini quiche. Someone else whispered, “I knew Shannon was cheap, but this is extreme.” A third person asked, “Are we being punked?” And another said, “Oh, this is going on Facebook!” as they pulled out their phone.
The minister, consummate professional, continued his eulogy as if this were the most normal venue imaginable. Shannon nodded along, misty‑eyed, holding a decorative urn that looked suspiciously like it came from HomeGoods. When he finished, she lifted the lid, walked to the toilet with ceremonial reverence, and said, “Goodbye, Evan. You always said this was your throne, and when you sat here, you felt like royalty, and besides, you wanted a simple send‑off.” And with that, she poured.
A swirl.
A flush.
A gurgle of plumbing doing its best.
The guests stood frozen, unsure whether to clap, cry, or call a plumber. Shannon turned back to them, smiling brightly. “Finger foods are still available in the kitchen.”
