Warning: This column begins as slightly off-kilter, but it ends up flat-out weird. I think it's safe to say that it is the weirdest column ever written about divorce, TV remotes, funeral practices and interior decorating. Just be thankful I edited out the nudity.

It's a cliche that men need to control the TV remote. Still, battling over the remote is responsible for more divorces than either infidelity or leaving the toilet seat up, according to a survey which I guess I made up, since I can't find any reference to it.

According to a study by the American Sociological Society — not me this time - 69% of American divorces are initiated by women. Plus, 40% of men feel regret about their divorce, and only 27% of women do. At least they finally get to control the remote. Still, I can't vouch for these numbers either. People don't become sociologists because they're great at math.

I personally, as a man, do not need to control the TV remote. I like to control the TV remote. I prefer to control the TV remote. And in our household, I usually do happen to control the TV remote. My wife is fine with that, because — being an adult — it doesn't matter to her, and, for some reason, she has this exaggerated idea of how important it is to me.

I'm not a controlling man. I understand that in our society, it's probably more difficult to be a woman than a man. And it's generally not other women who are making things hard for them. In fact, to offer a shameless plug, the working title of my next novel, out in September, was "The Great Dick: A Tale of Terror for Men and the Women They Hurt."

I don't need to do the driving when my wife and I are together. We both prefer her to drive. This is not because I'm a terrible driver. It's because when I'm driving, so many of the other drivers on the road are terrible. My wife, Rosie — a dietitian — also controls our diet. Like a goat, I don't even know the name of much of the stuff I eat. What's more, anything Rosie wants to do with the house is just fine with me. Considering life expectancies, she's probably going to live there years after I'm gone, though in my case, "gone" may not be the appropriate term because I do have one small stipulation about the house.

Funerals are expensive. And you end up with nothing to show for your money. Maybe a gravestone. And, in an average year, how many people will even bother to read it? 10? Maybe 20 at the most. I've had columns like that, but these columns don't cost me $7,000 to $12,000 — obviously — like an average funeral.

So, if I die first — which of course I probably will — my final request is for Rosie to have me stuffed and placed standing in our living room. Originally, I wanted to be naked. Just to make sure I was noticed. But, seeing what's happened to my body over the last few years, fully dressed is fine. I wouldn't want visitors to become uncomfortable. Or nauseated.

Aside from the obvious benefits — which, I'm sure, are clear to everyone — visitors don't know what to say after a death. Believe me, having the deceased standing in the living room will get them talking. Obviously, I won't be controlling the TV remote, but after doing this column, I think I'll add that, whenever it's not in use, Rosie should place the remote in my hand. I'm sure she'll be able to work that out with the taxidermist. And I find the thought comforting.

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Photo credit: Glenn Carstens-Peters at Unsplash