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luciabPicture, if you will:
We are at the funeral home during the visitation. An elderly woman (75-80 years old?) enters the room. Her skin has an unusual grey tinge and seems to be sagging off her bones. She looks more like a zombie than anything I have ever seen off a movie screen. She wears garish pink lipstick and her eyebrows are drawn on behind hugely oversized glasses. Her hair is strawberry blonde and is teased into casual, pouffy curls around her head. Her mouth is drawn into a grotesque caricature of a smile. She searches the room, looking for a member of the family. Who.... she begins, and someone points at me. She sails toward me with her hand outstretched. I am your cousin! she announces grandly.
I am, to put it mildly, bemused. I certainly do not recognize her, but then I have recognized none of the numerous family members to whom I have been introduced tonight. This one, however, I am sure I would have heard about, knowing how my dad's family loves a good story. I suspect, instead, that she is a stranger who goes to visitations as a form of social outlet.
She is wearing leopard-spotted crepe-de-chine shirt and pants, tucked into knee-high suede boots. Her purse is leopard fur, and she has on a full-length white fur coat. Her jewelry is equally... interesting. There is a brooch at her throat, with matching earrings. The brooch is in the shape of an antique chair, bas-relief style, and is at least 4" tall. The earrings are at least smaller, maybe 1-1/4" tall. When she shakes my hand, I can barely feel her fingers; she has at least five dinner rings, none smaller than an inch across, and each standing nearly a half inch tall. Her nails are very long and painted to match her lipstick. (Of course! We wouldn’t want anyone to accuse us of not matching, for heaven’s sake!)
By now, I am mentally gape-jawed but trying hard not to be obvious about it. She has begun the conversation by telling me that she is the interior decorator (her words, not mine) who decorated this funeral home, and every other building in town, apparently. She continues talking non-stop, making no comment at all about Aunt Susan or even suggesting that she knows who she was. Instead, we hear that she has recently built the largest home in Knox County, followed by a diatribe about how high the taxes will be. The locals, including the mayor, all greet her by name with a knowing smile.
She does finally become aware enough of the people around her to notice the temporary cast on Mother’s leg, and asks about it. Her response to Mother’s explanation of a broken foot? “Cousin” Kathleen designates a level on her thigh, barely below her crotch, and says I used to wear skirts up to here, because one thing I had was good legs!
AAAAaaarrrrgh!! :::scrub scrub scrub::: I now have the mental image of this zombie woman in a mini-skirt, with her skin sagging down around her knees. I’ll never be the same.
We are at the funeral home during the visitation. An elderly woman (75-80 years old?) enters the room. Her skin has an unusual grey tinge and seems to be sagging off her bones. She looks more like a zombie than anything I have ever seen off a movie screen. She wears garish pink lipstick and her eyebrows are drawn on behind hugely oversized glasses. Her hair is strawberry blonde and is teased into casual, pouffy curls around her head. Her mouth is drawn into a grotesque caricature of a smile. She searches the room, looking for a member of the family. Who.... she begins, and someone points at me. She sails toward me with her hand outstretched. I am your cousin! she announces grandly.
I am, to put it mildly, bemused. I certainly do not recognize her, but then I have recognized none of the numerous family members to whom I have been introduced tonight. This one, however, I am sure I would have heard about, knowing how my dad's family loves a good story. I suspect, instead, that she is a stranger who goes to visitations as a form of social outlet.
She is wearing leopard-spotted crepe-de-chine shirt and pants, tucked into knee-high suede boots. Her purse is leopard fur, and she has on a full-length white fur coat. Her jewelry is equally... interesting. There is a brooch at her throat, with matching earrings. The brooch is in the shape of an antique chair, bas-relief style, and is at least 4" tall. The earrings are at least smaller, maybe 1-1/4" tall. When she shakes my hand, I can barely feel her fingers; she has at least five dinner rings, none smaller than an inch across, and each standing nearly a half inch tall. Her nails are very long and painted to match her lipstick. (Of course! We wouldn’t want anyone to accuse us of not matching, for heaven’s sake!)
By now, I am mentally gape-jawed but trying hard not to be obvious about it. She has begun the conversation by telling me that she is the interior decorator (her words, not mine) who decorated this funeral home, and every other building in town, apparently. She continues talking non-stop, making no comment at all about Aunt Susan or even suggesting that she knows who she was. Instead, we hear that she has recently built the largest home in Knox County, followed by a diatribe about how high the taxes will be. The locals, including the mayor, all greet her by name with a knowing smile.
She does finally become aware enough of the people around her to notice the temporary cast on Mother’s leg, and asks about it. Her response to Mother’s explanation of a broken foot? “Cousin” Kathleen designates a level on her thigh, barely below her crotch, and says I used to wear skirts up to here, because one thing I had was good legs!
AAAAaaarrrrgh!! :::scrub scrub scrub::: I now have the mental image of this zombie woman in a mini-skirt, with her skin sagging down around her knees. I’ll never be the same.
