Shovel Buddies

Last week, I heard a story about someone . . .

Well, read the AP story for yourself:

MAYFLOWER, Ark. – Auctioneers preparing for an estate sale Saturday morning made a scary discovery among the items up for bid – a suitcase full of military-grade explosives.

The rusted, padlocked suitcase sat alongside a porcelain coffee service set and other goods.

Auctioneers opened the suitcase, which belonged to a deceased former member of the U.S. Navy, just before the sale and found three blocks of military-grade C-4 plastic explosive, two tubes of a similar plastic explosive, a blasting cap and some dynamite.

Workers quickly called 911, and the Conway Fire Department's bomb squad collected the materials, drove them to an isolated spot and destroyed them, according to the Log Cabin Democrat.

When I heard the story in the car, the first thing I thought to myself was, "Too bad the guy did not have a shovel buddy." A shovel buddy is someone who has agreed to, after you have died, discretely get rid of all of your "loose ends." For most of this, this may involve adult toys that we don't want our friends and family to ever know about. You know, after losing granny, we really don’t want to tarnish the image with imagining her using a vibrator on . . . you get the picture (sorry).

A while back, I was a shovel buddy. That's actually how I found out about the term. A girlfriend of mine asked me to be her shovel buddy, not because we were best friends but because we were good friends and I was discrete and responsible. She had a toy chest that I was to dispose of if she and her husband were to die about the same time. And I was sort of fine with that arrangement. She gave me a key and a bit more information about her sex life than I wanted to know. Oh, and I was to dispose of her adult movies as well. Apparently her brother-in-law had a bookstore and she had a lot of adult movies. This was a few years ago, so they were movies, not DVDs, as I recall. Well, we have drifted apart a bit – and she took the key back and said she would find someone else to perform the task.

I was a bit hurt and a bit relieved. I was hurt because she took away a unique responsibility I had. And I sort of wanted to know what types of toys she had as well. But I was relieved because if anyone caught me removing property, well, I am pretty sure I would be trespassing and stealing, according to the law. Even if the deceased wanted me to do it. I mean the theft would be nothing like grand larceny (unless she had one of those Sybian machines). I mean, I am not sure I could explain this to the police.

Leesa: Yes, officer, what seems to be the problem.

Police Officer: Ma'am. We got a call from a neighbor. The occupant of this residence has recently become deceased, and the neighbor is concerned that you are not a family member.

Leesa: I am just picking up a few items that are . . . mine.

Police Officer: I count seven vibrators in this box. What was the nature of your relationship?

And then my mug shot would be on the news that evening. Something about lesbian larceny (they like those types of news items – they rhyme, the have sex and lesbians and they are weird. Forever more I would be known as a lesbian.

When all I ever wanted to be was her shovel buddy.