Thursday, January 9, 2014

Undertaker Cool

(Let's again welcome our guest blogger, Kevin Dreely, V.)

In my last blog posting, "A Belated Christmas Story (The Jaws of Life)," I failed to mentioned that I am a fifth generation mortician. Also, I am quite popular in the Washington, D.C. metro area and have a lot of swag - or so I think. In my profession, I like to stay up-to-date on those souls who are about pass on to the great beyond. There is a well-known joke about me that says, "Kevin Dreely knows when someone is dead at least thirty seconds before they hit the floor." Well, that may be partially true.

Last week, the east coast was hit with a powerful winter storm. The meteorologists named it "Winter Storm Hercules." I guess they are now naming winter storms like they name hurricanes. There was a funeral scheduled for that week. The District of Columbia received some ice and snow, but not enough accumulation to cancel a funeral. Besides, the roads were passable and it was almost past the time to put the body in the ground. As usual, I was dressed in one of my eight black suits, starched white shirt with a necktie, pocket square and an overcoat. The funeral began on time with the deceased's girlfriend sitting near the casket in the massive sanctuary. When the widow made her grand entrance in a wide brim hat down the aisle with the family behind her, she tapped her late husband's girlfriend on the shoulder, leaned toward her and whispered, "Get your butt up."

Naturally, after the funeral, it was time for the interment. Since the graveyard was covered with snow and ice, I decided to put on my rubber boots. I didn't want to ruin my good pair of loafers. The widow and girlfriend tried to out cry each other during the service. And I think the girlfriend won - hands down.

After the service was completed at the cemetery, my staff directed the family back to their vehicles. In addition, we elegantly warned the mourners to watch the heavy patches of ice. Seconds later, I found myself face down and booty up kissing the icy pavement next to the hearse. I looked like, "Help...I've fallen and I can't get up." Wearing those rubber boots turned my feet into waxed paper. All of my undertaker cool and swag froze up just like a block of ice.

I am sure that a few mourners snapped photos of me kissing the ice - in that position.

With deep embarrassment,
Kevin Dreely, V
Washington, District of Columbia - USA

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