The Connoisseur of Corpse Chic

Mildred, ever the connoisseur of final farewells, adjusted her veil. "Pine?" she murmured, eyeing the deceased's last earthly abode. "For a man who owned three yachts? A missed opportunity for mahogany, darling. You simply *must* make a statement." The widow, mid-sob, merely blinked. Mildred, undeterred, snagged a mini quiche from a passing tray. "He’d have wanted you to enjoy them," she rationalized, mid-chew. "Even if *he* couldn't." Her own eulogy, meticulously drafted, read: "Here lies Mildred. She always said, 'If you're going to go, at least ensure your final party has decent hors d'oeuvres and a casket that screams 'I made it!' not 'I settled for the basic package.'" She chuckled softly, polishing a tear-shaped brooch. Oh, the planning she still had to do for *that* after-party.