To my son I bequeath enough money to get divorced

In roughly 1976 my paternal grandfather succumbed to lung cancer.  It was a sad time for my father's family as grandpa Irving was genuinely liked by friends and family alike.  Being that my grandmother was from a generation where the women stayed home to take care of the families and the men went off to work, it could be assumed that any money my grandfather had would of course be left to provide for my grandmother.  My father assumed it.  My aunt assumed it.  My mother not so much.  After my grandfather was laid to rest and the whole family was back at my grandparent's house, my mother with bagel and whitefish in hand, looked around the room and loudly said the following:

"SO, WHEN IS THE READING OF THE WILL?"

Sybil was escorted out of the house.

For the next twenty years, Sybil reminded us daily how my grandmother was rich because she didn't go to work after my grandfather died.  It was 1976 and my grandmother was in her late sixties.  I'm sure she could have gotten a job anywhere.  She just must have been lazy.