A Grave Sense of Humor

Mortimer Grimshaw adjusted Bartholomew 'Barty' Butterfield's tie for the tenth time. Barty, bless his formaldehyde-infused heart, was stubbornly listing to port. "Honestly, Barty," Mortimer muttered, "even in death, you're a lean-er." He straightened, pasting on his most somber 'professional condolences' expression as the Butterfield family entered.

Mrs. Butterfield, a woman whose weeping could power a small hydroelectric plant, collapsed onto her husband's casket. "Oh, Barty, my sweet Barty!" she wailed, her voice echoing off the polished mahogany.

Mortimer patted her shoulder with practiced gentleness. "There, there, Mrs. Butterfield. He's in a better place now." He paused, internally adding, *And significantly less likely to complain about my choice of mood music.* "Think of it this way," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially, "no more arguments over the thermostat. And the savings on his monthly golf club membership? Astounding."

A gasp from Barty Jr. "Mr. Grimshaw!"

Mortimer merely offered a sympathetic smile. "Just trying to highlight the silver lining, young man. And frankly, your father looks rather well-rested. We managed to get rid of that persistent twitch he developed after the incident with the badger and the lawnmower. A true testament to our embalming fluid's restorative properties." He gestured proudly at Barty's serene, if slightly waxy, face. "Pure tranquility. He's finally stopped trying to bite the postman."

Mrs. Butterfield lifted her head, sniffling. "He... he really loved those golf clubs."

"Indeed," Mortimer nodded. "But now, he'll be enjoying the ultimate back nine. And you, Mrs. Butterfield, are free to redecorate his study without fear of his 'vintage hunting trophy' collection. The one with the slightly off-kilter squirrel, if I recall?" He winked. "Plenty of good years left in you yet. Perhaps a cruise? With all the savings, you could visit several graveyards abroad."

The family looked bewildered, a mix of horror and dawning, uncomfortable amusement on their faces. Mortimer merely beamed. "At Grimshaw's, we believe in embracing the inevitable. With a smile. Or at least, a slightly less expensive smile."