You're not a woman," he said finally. "You're the Grim Reaper with red hair!
I drive a motorbike, so there is the whiff of the grim reaper round every corner, especially in London.
I've cheated the Grim Reaper more times than anyone I know, and I'll fight like a wildcat until they nail the lid of my pine box down on me.
The Grim Reaper doesn't disappear... he catches up.
It feels like getting a back massage from the Grim Reaper: one must get comfortable with the most horrifying things in the world.