My favourite part about funerals is the egg salad sandwiches; though a close second is the tuna. I only wish they were bigger! And those teeny-tiny plates – you seriously have to load up to get any value at all…grieving is hungry business, people! You have to be pretty fast, too. Otherwise, Aunt Edna gets all the egg and tuna, and all you’re left with is the ham, which is usually one measly slice; detritus, really.
The part I like least about funerals is that they are no fun at all – and the word “fun” is right there, in the word “funeral”! Talk about an annoying misnomer. But I’ll tell you something right now, my funeral will be fun. Big time.
First of all, I want it to be over-booked, so that there’s a queue outside. There should be velvet ropes and a bouncer outside, so when people walk by the church, they’ll say “Hey, what’s going on in there?! Looks like good times!” A wristband policy should be considered. The bouncer can also enforce a strict “no crying” policy; crying = not fun = out.
Inside, I want the pews arranged in a circle, none of that row after row of anti-social stare-at-the-back-of heads palaver for my big day. I should be in the middle, natch.
And entertainment, I definitely want entertainment. Not sure what, but definitely no clowns. But there should be a magician. Maybe a magician who could do a disappearing trick with my body…open the coffin – there she is – close the coffin “abra-cadabra” (or “abra-cadaver” heh, heh) – open it again – I’m gone! How cool would that be? He wouldn’t even have to bring me back; just leave me wherever it is magicians send things. That way, we could skip the annoying burial and my kids could sell the (mildly used) coffin on eBay.
And there will be gift bags for everyone. Filled with all my shit that’s not worth saving for the family, but too good to throw away, like my houseplants and tennis racket, stuff like that. Though there could be a raffle for my charm bracelet or something else decent, just to up the stakes a bit.
But the best part will be the MASSIVE amount of egg and tuna sandwiches, on dinner plates. So, go on Aunt Edna, help yourself. You’re welcome.