Too sad

When I was a child, I went to a fair number of funerals: three grandparents, other relatives, a family friend or two. I don't remember being upset by any of them, although after a funeral for a parish priest, I dreamed that I was in a coffin. I did not look dead necessarily, just asleep. I was even curled up under the blue afghan Gram made me, which is still my bup of choice. Is that creepy?

I went to a funeral here and there in the years since, but they didn't bug me much.

In the past few years I have been to three and they have all wrecked me. Gram, a co-worker's daughter and tonight a service for my sister-in-law's mom. It was all I could do tonight to bite my lips and the inside of my cheeks to keep my sobs inside. And I didn't even know her that well.

This makes it impossible to pick up women at funerals, a la Will Ferrell's Chaz in Wedding Crashers. If someone had touched me, even like putting a hand on my shoulder, I totally would have been unable to keep my sobs inside and would have had to leave. Although, maybe then the cuties have to go comfort me ...