Today was the funeral for Carlos Nunez. Of course, it was a sad occasion, but it was punctuated with fond memories of him and his life. During the funeral, a baby was crying in the row behind me. I want to make some deep correlation about there being a brand new life directly behind me, while I'm observing the end of another in front of me, but I don't think I'm eloquent enough to make that sound good, so I'll just skip it.
However, during the funeral, someone did become ill and passed out two rows in front of me. My brother, Rick and his wife, Linda were seated in front of the gentleman, and when Rick turned around, he said the man was not breathing and was starting to turn blue. 911 was quickly called, but thank God, the man came to on his own. It was definitely nerve-wracking for a few minutes. A new life behind me ... A possible ending two rows in front of me ... A definite ending a few rows even further.
Afterwards, the lunch was held at the Moose Lodge in Caseyville. I, however, was not aware of that because I was told a couple of days prior by someone (but I'm not mentioning Aunt Ruth's name because that wouldn't be nice), that the lunch was being held at the Caseyville Senior Center on Bunkum Road. Upon arriving at the senior center, I realized (quickly) I was in the wrong place because I had walked into a rockin' bingo tournament going on instead. Well, as "rockin'" as it could get (remember, these are seniors).
I'm not complaining because I won $20 and became the boy toy of one "Myrna Appleby". Myrna is a sweet ole gal who has brandished me with the nickname of "Young Stud". I don't think Myrna even knows my name. I feel like a piece of meat ... maybe a "prime rib", but a piece of meat nonetheless. I'm very impressed with Myrna because she has no need for glasses and has all of her own teeth ... well, except for that one.
Myrna asked me to go out with her next Saturday (hey, at least I'm attractive to someone!!) I told her "I sure would", because honestly, she looks like the type that has a disdain for banks, and therefore probably stashes a fortune under her mattress. I'm sure she'll pay for dinner. And if not, I'll pay because I suspect she won't eat much. If you don't see me around by next Sunday, call the police because that means I had Myrna pegged all wrong ... (haha)
A boy toy ... hmmm, maybe I've found my new calling.
