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Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she’ll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she puts together a guide for her husband in case she kicks the bucket before he does.

http://annetaintor.com/

After a close call with the Big Sleep yesterday, my thoughts went not exactly to my own life, but to that of my husband’s. What would happen to him if I died?

Yes, there would be a short period of mourning followed by a longer one of jubilation and buoyant celebration of freedom, but what exactly does that freedom mean? It means that on any given day, my husband stands on the brink of expiration numerous times a day and would no doubt succumb without the proper supervision.

Therefore, with the help of several of my long-time married girlfriends, I have created A Handy Manual for a Widower, My Husband. I wrote my intro with some personal touches, but feel free to pen your own, filled with your individual inspirations.

Dear Husband;

If you’re reading this, the inevitable has happened. I’ve stuck a knife into the old toaster you told me not to buy, which shot sparks on to the dishtowel that you said I keep too close to the stove.

The dishtowel then burst into flames, igniting one of the expired coupons sticking out of a drawer (the one you enjoyed reminding me to clean out). The fire then spread to the rest of the house, killing me because I’m on Ambien, which you told me to stop taking because I was getting too “aggressive with my snacks in bed.”

Well, you don’t have to worry about snorting Cheetoh dust anymore in your sleep. You have found this note because I am dead, “death by misadventure,” and you are finally going through the motions of rifling through my things so you can throw it all away because I’m guessing your lady friend requires some additional space in well, frankly speaking, my house.

NOT SO FAST, my friend. I have a couple of words of advice for you.

Read More: Page 2

Source: phoenixnewtimes.com