Wife: Everyday attire

Husband: Everyday Attire - has a large empty bowl

Death: Dressed in suit - has a Palm Pilot

Attitudes are very nonplussed. The fact that Death is at the door doesn't bother the Wife.

A couple is asleep on the sofa. The husband has one arm in what used to be a bowl of popcorn, the other around his wife. The wife is asleep on his shoulder.

(We hear a knock at the door, the wife stirs.)

(Another knock. The wife wakes and blinks, sleepily looks around.)

(A third knock.)

Wife: (Calling out as she gets up to answer the door) All right, who is it?

Death: Death.

Wife: Who?

Death: Death. You know, Grim Reaper, Harbinger of Doom - all that.

Wife: (Pausing) What do you want?

Death: I'm here to collect your soul, ma'am.

Wife: (Hesitates) Ok. (Opens Door) You don't look like Death, where's your robe and sickle?

Death: Oh, I had that outfit, but it was so depressing, and my sickle kept getting caught on the doorframes. In my line of business you have to keep your spirits up. (Pauses - realizes he probably said his first joke in the last century) Oh, that was good!

Wife: So I'm dead?

Death, I'm afraid so, ma'am.

Wife: What about him? (Points at husband)

Husband: (Snorts as if snoring)

Death: He'll have a heart attack in six years.

Wife: (Disgusted) I knew it - with the way he eats.

Death: Could we move it along, please? I have a lift accident in Philly, a lion attack in Kenya, and a bus crash in London - and you know those things have two decks ....?

Wife: Excuse me?

Death: (holding out a Palm Pilot and it's stylus) Just sign in the box, please, ma'am.

Wife: Sorry. (Writes on the Palm Pilot)

Death: Thank you. (Takes them both back)

Wife: Now what happens?

Death: Well that depends on what you did before I came along.

Wife: Could you give me a hint?

Death: Well - I shouldn't, but seeing as you've just died and all ... let's see. (Thumbing through Palm Pilot.) Uh huh ... Yes ... OH ... Oh my ... Feisty one aren't you? Uh huh ... Heavens! (Turns to Wife) So to speak. (Continues) Oh, that's embarrassing ... Umm hmm ... And, there it is. Yes. (Puts away Palm Pilot)

Wife: Well?

Death: (Pointing at her hair) That's not your natural colour.

Wife: Oh. (Embarrassed - fusses with hair) No, I mean, what do I do now?

Death: Oh, that. Nothing to worry about, you were saved in the '80s - one of the few, really.

Wife: That's a relief....

Death: Follow me, they will be here to collect you before you realize it.

Wife: (Pauses) Should I grab a sweater?

Death: No, ma'am, you'll be fine.