So yesterday I’m sitting in the funeral home with my grandmother, aunt, and my sister, Mo.
The funeral director guy’s name was Dale. We didn’t call him “Mr. Lyndahl”, we were to call him Dale. It was this whole weird happy shiny funeral business. Very strange. He hugged Mafia Grandma after we finished the arrangements. I think it was the first time that woman’s been hugged in twenty years. The look on her face was priceless. She sort of stood there, like an overstuffed teddy bear, arms stuck awkwardly out, since she didn’t want to actually place her hands on his person.
The things that I find amusing sometimes….. sheesh.
Anyway, at one point, “Dale” had gone somewhere to retrieve the picture we had just given him for the obituary, and we were sitting in this little room titled “Advanced Planning”, which was sort of strange. Advanced of the death? But we were there post death. Truthfully, my grandmother had done some “Advanced Planning” so maybe that’s why we were still in that room. But it still makes me wonder. Did they also have a room called “Nick of Time Planning” or some such? Morbid, I know, but so is a room called “Advanced Planning”.
There were no tissues in the Advanced Planning room. Maybe that was the difference. If you’re planning in advance, they don’t need to break out the free box of tissues. There was also no garbage for the tissues I stole from the lobby, so I ended up walking around with a big sodden mass of tissues. Oddly enough, I wasn’t crying there, I was highly allergic to something at the funeral home. Maybe I’m allergic to “advanced planning”. Note to self: Must remember to take a Zyrtec tomorrow before the funeral.
Anyway, we’re sitting there waiting for “Dale” to come back and suddenly there was a commotion outside of the door. Apparently, two people had startled each other and one of them screamed.
I couldn’t see what was going on, I just heard the screaming/startled noise. Immediately, I thought of bodies rising from their slabs, wandering through the home, like “Night of the Living Dead” or something.
I know. I watched far too many classic horror movies when I was 15. It’s changed me somehow.
They had mints in the “Advanced Planning” room, too. Mints, but no tissue. I’m having a hard time figuring the logic.
Last night, my three-year-old niece called Mo a spank.
Mo didn’t know where Abby had learned that.
I thought it was pretty funny. Especially because Mo is kinda a spank sometimes. Like the time she kicked me out of her house for having smelly feet. Sheesh.
