Epitaph

Our full-time admin. assistant is leaving us to take another job. Similar to not speaking ill of the dead, I was saying good things to her, such as how everyone in our shop and even within the greater department will miss her, and avoiding all the irritations she will take with her, such as being on the phone constantly. She, in turn, told me that our office will still have a good rapport within the department because of me. "Everyone," she said, thinks I'm "so nice".

Nice.

Ick.

Every guy in America knows that "nice" is a euphemism for, "I'm never going to have sex with you."

I've been on this planet long enough to know that I'm cursed with it. Girls think I'm nice. Parents like and trust me. (There's a double whammy.) My grandmother's friends and acquaintances always thought I was handsome and wondered why they weren't 60 (or 70) years younger because I was just what they were looking for. (Ouch.)

On the one hand, I think putting "nice" on my headstone will haunt me the rest of my afterlife. (I imagine guys jogging through the cemetery, or history students perusing tombstones, or nearby mourners looking down on me and saying, "Poor slob. He never got laid.") On the other hand, what better legacy to leave for humanity than a reminder to be nice?

It might not be so bad after all.