Ten Points of a Learning Curve

In my previous post I said that death is a learning curve. Here's a, non-exhaustive, list of what I've learnt, in no particular order:

1. Friends are immeasurably more important than family. I hope you know who you are, and that you make the difference between existing and living.
2. Putting the rubbish out is a pain in the arse. There is a gap in the employment market for a Putteroutoftherubbish.
3. The putrefying bag of green liquid in the bottom drawer of the fridge that I believe was once broccoli, and I strongly suspect may have been Frank's last purchase of a vegetable nature, will not clean itself up. 
4. The cats are decidedly happier in the depths of so called Spring not to be chased out of the house. 
5. Frank had many qualities, but sadly the panache of a Greek Cypriot politician in matters financial.
6. Checking tyre pressures and filling the screen wash isn't actually that big a deal.
7. One I learnt from Eve, via an eves-dropping friend - "your dad dying is like your cat dying, except much, much, much worse."
8. For the very many people that have said to me over the last four months "I don't know what to say", I still haven't worked out the correct response. 
9. Even nice estate agents occasionally deserve to be slapped simply for being estate agents.
10. Just because you lose your husband, don't expect anyone to show you mercy in Words With Friends. Actually, bad choice of word. I didn't lose him since that implies that I might find him again, and in the manner of Lady Bracknell suggests some negligence on my part. I accept full responsibility for losing Kate's locker keys and the car log book, but I refuse to accept that I lost Frank.  He didn't, in American vernacular, "pass" either. Frank passed his Law Society Finals (just), and a great deal of urine, but not to another level of existence. Did I mention that he bloody well died?