I Crashed a Funeral
Okay, it wasn't a funeral, per say. It was the visitation, but I crashed it, nonetheless.
My good friend's husband had a death in his family. His grandmother passed away.
Since I will be taking care of their young sons tomorrow during the funeral, I felt it necessary to go to the visitation tonight to pay my respects. It was at a local funeral home in town -- one that has more than one area for such things. Now, I must insert something at this particular point in the story. Chiefly, if you are going to run simultaneous visitations, it might be a good idea to ... I don't ... perhaps post the names of the parties in question on, say, a door, or something.
Why, you ask?
Well, I rounded the corner, having parked around the corner from the funeral home, and saw a few gentlemen that looked like they could be with the visitation crew, standing on the front porch of the annexed portion of the funeral home, and I quickly decided that was the place I needed to be. I marched in, and made my way, almost to the front of the chapel, everybody and their brother standing around looking at me like, "Well who is she!?" before I realized I didn't know a soul in the room.
Abort, abort, abort!
So, I turned on my heel and sought out a funeral concierge or whatever they are calling themselves.
"May I help you?" Said the man in a slow, gentle tone.
"Yes. I am looking for the Peach visitation." It was only then I realized that I hadn't the first clue what my friend's grandmother's name was. I mean, I couldn't really refer to her as Mamaw, now could I?
"Do you mean the so-and-so visitation in the next building?" He was giving me The Eye. I knew if I didn't tread lightly, I could be bounced right out of the whole joint.
"Umm...well, here's the thing. I am not really sure what the lady's name was who died."
Again with The Eye.
"I just know her daughter's last name is Peach."
He cleared his throat, disapprovingly, and forced a smile. "Ahem, that visitation is next door."
As I was entering the next building, I happened to look down at my black slacks ...the same ones I'd lint-rollered BEFORE I left the house. They were covered in cat hair.
So, yeah. I crashed a funeral. And I did so in cat hair-covered slacks. And I was wearing a jean jacket to boot.
I am nothing if not classy.