And it's a good thing I discovered it before I dumped the measure into
the molten peanut brittle I was making for The Widow Geraldine's funeral
tomorrow morning. Ack! It just seemed too light and I looked at the
jar to be sure. Ye gods! She'd really be laughing at me. Hmmmmm, come
to think of it, maybe it was her hand that guided me to the wrong jar --
just so my peanut brittle couldn't POSSIBLY be mistaken for hers. Well,
guess what: It wouldn't be seen as hers under the best conditions!

The visitation was this evening and I got the name of that mortician.
She looks better in that box than she did the last time I saw her
vertical. She'd gotten some sun at her son's (when she'd go outside for
smokes) and she's got a nice tan. Helluva way to show it off to us,
though. Her daughter said, "Well, you know she's always hated
Christmas and she figured out a way to get out of it." Oy.
--
http://www.jamlady.eboard.com, updated 12-13-05 - RIP, Gerri