Last night PB and I went to a visitation at a funeral home for a dear lady that was a member of a church we used to serve. We wanted to offer our condolences to the family and support them during their time of loss. For PB, this is the equivalent of a Friday night date. I’m okay with that.
Upon entering the funeral home, I went to the guest book and started to sign our names. I glanced up at the 8×10 picture of our deceased friend and was stunned at how much she had changed in the last few years. That’s when PB whispered, “Umm…that’s not her.” Realization hit that we were at the wrong funeral home. I panicked.
Should I cross out the half-written name in the guest book? No.
Should I go ahead and finish signing our names? No.
So I took PB’s middle name and stuck it on as a last name and I hightailed it out of there.
PB was a few steps behind me because he had stopped to grab a few pieces of complimentary candy.
I sure hope no one saw us sprinting out the door and through the parking lot, exploding with laughter.
That might have looked bad.
We finally found the right funeral home and paid our respects to the right person. But every few miles on the ride home, PB and I would look at each other and start giggling.
I love going on dates with PB.