Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
The song for my most recent Battle of the Bands was Hozier's Take Me To Church (click HERE to read the original post). When I announced the winner--Hozier, of course--I mentioned that my favorite lines in the song are
My lover has a sense of humor.
She's the giggle at a funeral.
What a great use of words. She's doesn't giggle at a funeral. She's not the giggler at a funeral. She IS the giggle.
That metaphor really gets to me. I want to be the giggle at a funeral. It's not something I can explain. I think you understand it, or you don't.
I have attended two funerals: my dad's, and several years later, my mother's. I can't remember going to any other funerals. My brother died quite some time ago. I didn't go to the funeral. I couldn't leave town, I couldn't afford to go. I didn't know him very well. Choose the excuse you prefer.
Is it weird that I'm fifty-six years old, and I've only been to two funerals? Now that I think about it, maybe I can keep up my no funeral attendance streak. Oh, damn. I remember another funeral I attended, but I barely knew the guy. It was a long time ago. I don't think it counts.
Most of you probably don't read my responses to comments, so you wouldn't have seen these on my blog:
Oh, how we laughed after my dad's funeral. The pastor gave the most awful . . . eulogy? Except it wasn't a eulogy. He barely mentioned my dad. He spoke about a serial killer who found Christ before he was executed. My oldest nephew said he was pretty sure he'd seen the story in Reader's Digest. During the "eulogy," we stared in shock. Afterwards, we couldn't quit laughing. When my dad's ashes were buried, one of my sisters put her face to the opening in the ground to shout at the serial killer and ask if he was down there. My mom looked at the very sober young man from the funeral home and said, I raised a bunch of nuts.
When my mom died, we couldn't quit laughing during her funeral. The pastor had asked us about special memories we had of our mom. We brought up frizzy home perms and wearing ugly matching dresses that my mom sewed. Oh, how we laughed.
I want so badly to be the giggle at a funeral. I'm not sure how to go about it if I don't go to funerals. Maybe if I'm the giggle all the time, then I can be considered the giggle at the funeral. Yeah. I want to be the giggle as often as possible.
I have a new goal. I like it.
The dishwasher was repaired, but other stuff broke. The heating and AC guy needs to visit me.
I continue to edit. I'm grateful for the work.
I'll see you Friday, October 30th, for The Cephalopod Coffeehouse. Sign up for this bookish bloghop with The Armchair Squid. I'll be here again on Sunday, November 1st, for The Battle of the Bands. This time I'll be ready and not pull a battle out of my ass at the last minute.
Sing us out please, Billie Joe.
Infinities of love,