A yarn about something similar; most of a family were gathered around what was expected to be the death-bed of an elderly relative. This bed was one of a very old style, not so much a four-poster as one literally forming part of the structure of the house, in this case built into one end of a tiny, cramped room in under the eaves of the cottage. For an hour or so they conversed in hushed tones among themselves and with the old relative, carefully avoiding anything at all connected to matters of illness or debility. Eventually, with much reassurance and seemingly cheerful expressions of confidence that the invalid would soon be up and about again, they rose to go.
One by one they moved slowly to the old wooden stair that led down to the kitchen ( it also went up to the bedroom; it was handy that way). One of them banged his head against a low beam. Surprised, he roared,
"Fur shit's sake! We'll never get a coffin out o' here."


Hear about the guy that opened Dracula's coffin?
He got a bat in the mouth.

(In parts of Scotland, at least, that would be an everyday expression for a slap, etc.; come to think of it, in many parts of Scotland that would BE an everyday occurrence.)

Good Luck.