Mourners look for solace in numerous means: some cry, some eat, some screw
The question “where to flirt” in San Francisco ignited a vigorous debate on a yelp message board. Jason D. rated funerals given that fifth-best flirting hot spot, beating out pubs and nightclubs. “Whoa, whoa, backup,” reacted Jordan M. “People flirt at funerals? Actually? Huh. I’m uncertain i really could pull that down.” That prompted Grace M. to indicate that “the very very first three letters of funeral is FUN.”
Several years ago, I had fun after a funeral, at a shiva to be exact before I married. My pal’s mother that is elderly died, and mourners gathered inside her Bronx apartment for the old-fashioned Jewish ritual to exhibit help to surviving family unit members over rugelach. Because of the decidedly unsexy setting—mirrors covered in black colored material, hushed mourners on a group of white plastic folding chairs—we nonetheless discovered myself flirting aided by the strawberry blonde putting on a black colored gown that still unveiled impressive cleavage. Linda (as I’ll call her) and I also commiserated with your shared buddy, but we had as yet not known their mom especially well. We quickly bonded over politics; Linda worked into the industry and we frequently covered it. As soon as the mourners started filtering down, we consented to share a taxi to Manhattan.
We shortly stopped at a tavern conveniently situated near Linda’s apartment and ordered shots of whisky to toast our shared friend’s mother. I happily hustled over to Linda’s place for a delightful one-night stand, a pre-matrimonial notch on a belt I no longer wear though I felt a little like Will Ferrell’s character Chazz from Wedding Crashers who trolls for women at funerals.
The memory of this post-shiva schtup popped up whenever my family and I attended a viewing that is open-casket honor David, her friend and colleague.