Journal of a Living Lady #134
Nancy White Kelly
This day was a total waste of make-up. Nobody came by. Yet, it was nice to have a quiet, uneventful day. Yesterday was different. Buddy and I spent several hours in McDonough, Georgia. This once sleepy little town, now a sprawling suburb of Atlanta, is near the area where I spent most of my working years as a school principal.
A friend arranged a book signing at a community book store which was attended by an occasional curious customer and some old friends. It was nice catching up with the news. Lots of recently-born grandbabies. Some were advancing their education or changing careers. One long-time friend and her sister recently buried their beloved father. They chatted about their experience of casket shopping in a “pay less” retail store.
Apparently there is blatant commercialism in the coffin market. “May I show you something in blue? How about a quilted, velvet lining? This week’s special includes embroidered initials.”
I don’t want Buddy casket shopping for me. He doesn’t comprehend color coordination. They didn’t teach that in Mississippi. That is why I have always done his clothes shopping. Anything he has ever bought for me to wear has had to go back. I don’t wear small or medium anything. He finally understands S or M on labels does not stand for sweetheart or mother.
On the plus side, Buddy is a great mechanic, a Mr. Fix-It. After several years of gift swapping, Buddy and I forged a deal. I don’t buy him China-made tools and he doesn’t shop for clothes, mine or his. If it were up to my fashion-challenged hubby, he would wear polished work shoes with a mismatched suit and wide tie to a Juvember wedding. To be fair, I would have a hard time deciding whether to use a plunger or a hammer to fix the car. Opposites attack.
To ease my mind and to take an unnecessary burden from him, I have already bought a pink chiffon dress for my funeral. If Buddy forgets where it is, somebody please tell him to look in the guest room closet. If further explanation is needed, the guest room is that bedroom on the other side of the guest bathroom. The guest bathroom is the one we seldom use, not the one he takes visitors to where my lingerie is usually hanging to dry.
Actually everybody at the book signing said I looked good. I wouldn’t expect anybody to tell me to my face that I looked bad. Considering that cancer was supposed to have killed me many months ago, some people seemed shocked that I don’t look like a barely breathing corpse. That puts me in a dilemma. Should I apologize for not expiring sooner? Sorry, but I only plan to spend the last day of my life dying. Until then, I am going to be defiant. I’ll even put on make-up in case somebody drops by with a casserole for my Buddy and me.
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October 4, 2001
