We’re doing the road trip today and Monday – wake today, funeral tomorrow – for the wife of an ex-neighbor. Saying ex-neighbor doesn’t sound very close, but funeral for a friend was already taken.
She actually died just after Christmas, but apparently that’s a popular enough time that things were delayed until now {insert obligatory dying to get in joke here}.
DH and FirstBorn were asked to be pall bearers. DH looked upon this as a buying opportunity (I need a new suit!) while FirstBoarn was more concerned with zombies and bodies faling out of coffins (what do you tell those kids, anyway, Rachel asks? Hey, it’s not my fault ’cause you just never know what will stick)..
So now we’re driving along and I have no Diet Coke! DH and FirstBorn say Drink Water. Seriously? People pee in that stuff, so no thank you. They’ll have to pull over at a Speedway ’cause there is no way I’m going through this thing uncaffeinated… Family insists I will be talking for a couple of hours there about coupons – not likely since this town only has a dollar store – put in a CVS or Walgreens and they’d call it a mall.
Wake had pound cake, cookies, pound cake, cookies…and a small tray of veggies. Was surprised to see that the sweets had Dominicks labels on them, since the g-daughter is a baker. She said people were calling, asking what they could bring. You couldn’t have said hoagies? But it was getting dark and we were hungry, so stopped for dinner at a diner. Meant to cut off FirstBorn’s head (in the picture!) because my little petunia hates that Christmas sweater as being too bold. Got a chocolate malt and took it back to the car. Pay attention now, ’cause this is the quiz part.
While driving back, DH made a “turn” and my Diet Coke tipped over. It was mostly empty, so I grabbed and offered it to PITA. The malt had about a quarter left, kept nice and steady between my legs…which, as it was a cardboard product, decided to decompose and escape. One entire pack of wipes – cold, wet, nasty wipes – was yanked from the glovebox in a vain attempt to mop up the damage. Which only served to make my butt even colder and wetter. DH: “You know we’re taking your car tomorrow. You know that, don’t you? Why do you always have to make a mess and your daughter is just like you.” Although that last part is kinda weird because I don’t know who else she would take after…
I don’t really have to worry about us taking my car tomorrow because I hold the ultimate weapon: Sirius Broadway. My car = my tunes. And there’s no way he will sit there for an hour while PITA and I belt out hit after hit. Or even plug in the phone to screech to The Book of Mormon – HELLO!