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.