Heavy guilt had gripped me for days. Sleep was awfully scarce and not terribly restful. Dance was impossible because guilty feet have got no rhythm.

    I was having a horrible time wrestling with my conscience over whether I should go through with the request made by a relatively new acquaintance who sold me some life insurance. All this guy was asking from me was a kidney, my spleen and my liver in case he ever needed any of them. 

    Yes, I thought it kind of weird a perfectly healthy guy would want ‘back-up organs’, but being in insurance I’m sure he just looked at it as a safeguard. I had to admire that sort of foresight.

    I also thought it odd he’d ask me, a man he barely knew, to donate my organs on his behalf. He only knew me well enough to sell me a pricey insurance policy, for crying out loud! But, I did admire the fact he was persistent in pursuit of my innerds. That kind of moxie shows a winner, and who doesn’t like a winner?!

    The more I thought about it, the more flattered I became. He wanted MY organs in case he ever needed some. Pieces of me could complete him. I would be the winner he is. That’s a pretty high compliment when you think about it, and I thought about it a lot.

    So I made up my mind: I’d do it. I’d go ahead and get my organs cut out and put on ice for this guy who must have been an angel or something sent to test me. I mean, things happen for a reason, right?

    The morning I was scheduled to see my doctor and make the request to have him perform the procedures, I walked out to the driveway in my bathrobe and picked up the newspaper. I opened the paper, glanced at the headlines and slowly started walking back up the drive. The following words stopped me cold in my tracks: “Man Dies In Freak Accident”. Below the headline was a picture of my man, the guy who sold me insurance and wanted my organs for his life-extending insurance.

    I stood on the driveway transfixed as I read the tragic tale. The man, who shall remain nameless– no, strike that, let’s call him Mr. John Doe Anonymous NoNamer, Jr., was walking down the street when a flatbed truck carrying an antique trolley car to a museum in Birmingham, Alabama, was hit at an intersection by a garbage truck. The trolley car broke loose, toppled off the truck and crushed poor Mr. John Doe Anonymous NoNamer, Jr., killing him instantly. Dead men need no organs. I was saved.

    A cool breeze brought me back to reality. I was standing on my driveway reading a newspaper and a breeze had blown my bathrobe open. An elderly woman walking her terrier stood staring at me. I looked down, I was naked beneath my open robe. Clutching the bathrobe quickly, I tied the belt, shot her a cold stare and spoke sharply, “Good day, madame!” I pivoted  and ran quickly into our house as her dog barked.

    I wonder if Mr. John Doe Anonymous NoNamer, Jr. had insurance.