See what I did there? I got you to click on the link to this post because you thought it was going to be touching and profound. Instead, it’s going to possibly be the most disturbing and asinine twelve minutes of your day. You’re welcome.

My daughter approached me and said, “When you kill somebody,” (yeah, let that sink in for a minute… my twelve-year-old came to me with a question about a scenario that started out AFTER having killed someone…), “When you kill somebody, why don’t you just take the body to the place that cremates people, instead of trying to find a place to hide the body?”

The most important thing I probably need to do is modify my parenting style. I’m not sure that it’s healthy for someone her age to a) assume there’s already a dead guy and b) be thinking about logical ways to dispose of him. I sat her down for a chat. Kind of like the this-is-your-period-this-is-where-babies-come-from talk, but ultimately, this chat could actually have farther reaching consequences.

“Sweetie, when you kill someone, the last thing you want to do is put him in your car,” I pointed out patiently. “The police can trace the body back to you because there will be hair, clothing fibers, or blood left in your vehicle.”

“Oh, I get it mom,” she said, smiling sweetly. “But can’t you wrap the body in a plastic bag? Like those heavy duty contractor garbage bags?”

“Well, you could, but there will be a receipt from the hardware store where you bought the giant bags. And then the funeral home where you’re trying to have him cremated is probably going to report you for having a body in your car that you’ve wrapped in a giant plastic bag.” I brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead and patted her back.

“Wow, that’s a good point. Can’t you rent an ambulance and just pretend you’re bringing him from the hospital?” I’ve never been prouder of her.

“It might be worth a try, but then there’s going to be a paper trail showing you rented an ambulance. And I’m really not even sure you CAN rent one.”

“You could hot wire a hearse from a different funeral home, one that doesn’t have a crematorium,” she suggested. “I mean, you’ve already killed someone, it’s not like grand theft auto is gonna make it a lot worse or something.”

“That’s true honey, but you’re still going to have to bring a death certificate with the body.”

“Sheesh. I can make one of those on the computer, no problem.”

“Well, actually, it’s not like creating your own Star Student certificate. Death certificates are a little more involved than that. They have to have certain official-looking features.”

“I know! I can open an internet business making death certificates for people who need them!” She brightened immediately, her braces gleaming on her giant grin.

My husband stuck his head in. “What the hell are you two talking about?!”

My daughter smiled at him. “We’re talking about trying to get rid of a body while making it look legit. I’m going to start an internet business forging death certificates!”

(NOTE: This is where my husband totally should have intervened and put a stop to this. You just can’t count on him.)

“Oh, they already have those. Google it, there’s tons of them,” he replied before going back to watching TV, crushing her dreams and making me wonder why he knew that.

I’m fairly certain this entire conversation happened because there has been a lot of talk in our household lately of having to kill certain people if they don’t get their acts together and do their jobs. I’m happy to report that at this time, my other daughter will supposedly have her special ed services for next year and no one will need to come bail me out or print me off a fake death certificate. For now.