Speaking of funerals, I was at a funeral yesterday. To be more precise, I was in the kitchen of the church where the funeral was held. I had volunteered to help do the little post-funeral receptions at the church SH and I attend sometimes.* I have volunteered for other things at other places, but nobody wants me.
On the way to the church. This is one of the high schools in town, built when beauty was a consideration in public building design and construction.
OK, that's not true. The only place I have tried to volunteer to no avail is the old folks' home down the street. Which is fine, because I can rest on my laurels of, "Well at least I tried but nobody wants me so I might as well goof off on the internet instead."
Anyhow. Someone died and there was a funeral, so the church ladies asked me to help set up the food and the tables and clean up afterward. Which was fine. Except here was where I was dumb.
SH had told me he would be leaving for Indianapolis for his friend Doug's annual summer party** by 6:30. Which I believed and was my first mistake.
Because SH time and real time have nothing to do with each other.
As in oh come on there was no way he would be leaving by 6:30, but every time SH gives me some deadline -- "We need to leave the house at X o'clock" -- I think, this could be the time that he is actually ready to go at X o'clock so I better be sure I'm ready, but usually I end up cooling my heels for 15-20 minutes, taking deep breaths and reminding myself that I don't really care if we're on time for him to catch the plane to his parents or whatever.
I knew I wouldn't be back from the funeral by 6:30 so I told SH I would just walk. We do have two cars (actually, we have three if you count the 1965 Corvair that gets driven to and from storage each winter), but SH was taking the newer one to Indy and I don't like to drive the older one because it's too much trouble to get the seat adjusted and SH gets all freaked out if I touch anything because this is the first car he LOVED and he's had it for 20 years or so and it has to be shifted just right and what if I got rust on it and DON'T USE THE VISOR! NOOOO!!!!
As you can see. Easier to walk.
Which would not have been a problem except one does not wear jeans to a funeral*** and my only slacks**** require that I wear heels. SH asked if I was going to wear tennies to walk to the church (about a mile from our house) and change into the heels when I got there and I laughed Hahahaha! But these are high-heeled boots! They are made for walking! Tennies! With slacks! That would have to be rolled up!
Which was my second mistake.
Because I was kinda hobbling by the time I got to the church at 4. And then I spent the next couple of hours putting out water and forks and napkins and helping set up the buffet line and then serving punch and then clearing tables and washing dishes. By the time I left at 7:40, my feet were throbbing. I looked good, but my feet -- oy.
I called SH just to find out if he'd gotten to Chicago yet and guess what?
He was still at home. Unshowered. 6:30 departure time? Not.
So he insisted on picking me up, which was fine because I was rolling down the sidewalk like a drunken sailor, trying not to put any weight on the balls of my feet, which is not easy. And I vow before you here that I will never try to walk a long way in heels again, even if it is over somebody's dead body.
* This is the Lutheran church down the street from us. SH likes it because it gave him the excuse to get a big-screen TV, which is very nice for watching movies. We were at church a few months ago and saw in the bulletin that they were looking for TVs for their media center and did anyone have one to donate. SH claimed that was a sign from God that he was supposed to donate his old TV and buy a new one. I know the Lord works in mysterious ways, but I didn't think he was getting kickbacks from Best Buy and I don't think he gets involved in consumer electronics decisions.
** Yes, of course I was invited. But SH and Doug, who have been friends since high school, will have more fun without me around. I have plenty to do here, like keeping the Felon Cat from stealing any more bananas, potatoes, onions or wooden spoons from the counter.
*** Unless one is one of the funeral attendees, bless her heart, who wore not only jeans but a t-shirt (black layered on a green t-shirt) and tennies. I am hoping she was dressed so sloppily because she didn't know better, not because those were the nicest clothes she had. Her kids were wearing shorts and Crocs. To a funeral.
**** Because it is difficult to find pants that don't make my ass look a mile wide -- shut up -- so I usually wear jeans or a skirt. Pants are not my friend.