Spring Break Funeral

Dear Diary,

I love the sun and the beach. Love love love love love. I could just live in a string bikini, straw hat, and a cooler of beer. Ooh! And In Touch magazine. The BHE, being of the fair skin and red hair persuasion, does not. You can imagine this puts a kink in our vacation planning. This year for spring break the BHE wanted to go to Montreal (um, freezing?). But I wanted to go to Florida. So we compromised and decided to go to Florida. Marriage is all about compromise.

I had everything ready. I had books on tape for the drive. I had a new string bikini, In Touch magazines, disposable cameras. I even dumped out the ash tray in my car. The BHE's little blue swimming trunks were lying in wait on top of his dresser.

Then his grandfather became critically ill (which at 92 is a fuzzy distincton) and instead of Ft. Lauderdale we found ourselves in central Pennsylvania at his funeral. Let me tell you, those Pennsylvania Dutch are a weeping and wailing bunch. They make good pickled beets, though. Also, I was fortunate enough to witness a "secret" Freemason burial rite. I'm not sure how secret it was, considering they let me see it. But it involved evergreen sprigs and aprons. Secret.

Speaking of funerals, what is this standing around staring at a dead body thing? I find it very awkward. Are you supposed to look at it? Poke it? Compliment it? It's all very unclear to me.

Also, speaking of Pennsylvania Dutch. Brendan's great-aunt's name is Lois Shook Boob. I kid you not. Apparently this is very common. At the cemetary, every other tombstone said BOOB really huge across the top. In other words, there were really huge boobs on all the tombstones. I could barely hold it together.

Speaking of funerals again, people should probably not invite me to them.

Love, Fluffy