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“Are you sure we can’t hate the div?” Tamsin asked, absently
flipping through The New Yorker, as
we sat in my living room a week later.
I laughed out loud at the impeccably well-bred Lady Tamsin
Greer using common British slang. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “And she’s not a
div. She’s brilliant, actually. Brilliant, accomplished, pretty . . . and she’s
nice.”
It was true. We had spent an entire long weekend in close
company together, and I had to admit that Lauren Dawes was really a very nice
person. There was nothing at all to dislike about her. Except, maybe the bit
where she’s engaged to the guy I was kind of developing a thing for, but . . .
“Not possible,” Tamsin asserted.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, that’s not how it works. Have you learned nothing
from Romantic Comedies? The other woman is always a bitch. That’s how you know
the hero’s going to leave her for the heroine.”
I stared at Tamsin for a moment, and then laughed again,
although this time my heart wasn’t really in it. “Sorry, T,” I said. “But there
are a few flaws in your logic.”
“Such as?”
I sighed. “Such as, this is not a Romantic Comedy, it’s real
life. And real life works a little differently than the movies.”
“Immaterial,” Tamsin countered, with a casual wave of her
hand.
“OK, well, then, there’s this – if anyone is the other woman
in this scenario, it’s me, not Lauren.” I thought that would end the
discussion, but Tamsin raised her eyebrows significantly, and I immediately
realized the impression I had just given. I tried, clumsily, to clarify: “That
is, I mean, well, you know what I mean.”
Right, that’s clear then, I thought with chagrin. Not that
any of it mattered. It’s not like there had been anything between Michael and
me, so there was no point in dwelling on it, or making excuses. And, since I
had no intention of telling Tamsin what else happened that weekend, it was time
to change the subject.
“Listen, anyway, that’s not why I asked you here,” I said,
pulling the magazine out of Tamsin’s hands.
“No?” Tamsin asked. “Want to know how things are at the
ancestral pile?”
“No – well, yes. How are you parents?”
Tamsin shrugged. “Fine. They send their love. My grandmother
wants to know when you’re going international by the way.”
“Really?” I hadn’t thought about expanding my business
abroad. I immediately started to envision the logo for “Funerals By Francie International.”
Shaking my head, I got back to the matter at hand. “Not anytime soon,” I said. “Though you know
I’d always be there for your family. But, right now, I really need you to take
a look at this.”
I handed Tamsin a couple of sheets of paper. She looked at
the top sheet, flipped down to the next page, and looked at me incredulously.
“Is this for real?” she asked.
I shrugged, “Yeah. Lila introduced me to the features editor
from the Times a couple of weeks ago.
He thought this might make a good piece for the Sunday Supplement. I need you
to tell me if it’s OK before I submit it, because I don’t really think I
captured the tone they were looking for.”
“What do you mean?
“Well, I can be a little snarky.”
“No!”
“Yeah, very funny. This is the Times. I need to get it
right. So, read it and let me know if it’s—“
“Too snarky?”
“Among other things.”
Tamsin settled back against the sofa cushions and tucked her
feet under her. “Fine,” she said, “but I’m going to need some liquid incentive.
Another vodka tonic, please.”
As I moved to the kitchen to mix Tamsin’s drink, she settled
in to read my debut article.
****
FUNERAL DOS AND
DON’TS
By Frances Fellowes
Founder/Owner
Funerals By Francie, LLC
Etiquette is a bit of a lost art. We’ve become a more casual
society. But, there are still some things that remain sacred and where the
words, “casual” or “Dress-down” do not, or at least should not, apply.
Unfortunately, not everyone remembers this, and so it helps to be reminded
what’s appropriate and what’s not when it comes to conducting or attending a
funeral. Here’s a short list of Dos and Don’ts everyone should remember (I’m
looking at you – girl in the halter top, micro-mini and red F*** me pumps!)
Before one can even think of the funeral, one needs to deal
with the notifications. Two basic rules here:
DO notify all family and close friends in a timely manner.
It’s generally best to delegate calling responsibilities to a few reliable
people.
DON’T post the news on Facebook before said family and close
friend have been notified. No one wants to hear that Aunt Myra died by
scrolling through pictures of their cousin’s boobs and their best friend’s
Disney vacation.
When the arrangements are made:
DO feel free to post them on Facebook, as it is a good way
to relay the information quickly.
DON’T forget that people like Uncle Sid and Aunt Myra
(assuming it’s not actually her funeral) may not have Facebook. You still need
to call people.
At the funeral, it’s mostly the visiting mourners who need
the reminders. The family largely just needs to stand on the receiving line and
accept condolences. But, family, remember this:
DO receive condolences in a gracious manner, no matter who
is offering them
DON’T use the receiving line to air your displeasure at
Cousin Wally for breaking your iPhone last year (same goes for the people
offering condolences).
Visiting Mourners:
DO offer your condolences in a sincere and gracious manner.
DON’T say, “So sorry for your loss. You know we all wish it
were Cousin Wally who’d bought it.” Seriously, just don’t.
DO move on quickly so as not to hold up the line.
DON’T decide to catch up on the last thirty years since
you’ve seen Uncle Sid. If it’s one of my funerals, my pushers and pullers will
physically drag you away if they need to, and force you to look at every single
photo in the collage!
DO silence your phones out of respect for the proceedings.
DON’T sneak to the back with Cousin Wally and company and
take stupid pictures and post them on Instagram. No texting either!
Funeral Attire:
DO, if possible, wear a black or dark suit. For the ladies,
a dark skirt or pair of trousers, with a subdued top is perfectly acceptable.
DON’T wear a fuchsia dress and say, “Well, it’s all I had.
It’s subdued, right?” You will forever be remembered as the dumbass who wore a
fuchsia dress to Aunt Myra’s funeral (sorry, Aunt Myra). Go to the store!
DON’T (yes, this needs its own category). I repeat, DON’T
wear jeans unless you are specifically told it is a casual event. And even
then, khakis would be better. This is a funeral people! Not a night out
clubbing! Come to think of it, most clubs won’t let you in with jeans, either,
so…
Post Funeral:
DO feel free to follow up with a note, mass card, whatever,
to let the bereaved know you’re thinking of them.
DON’T call and say, “All right, so can we talk about what
Aunt Myra and Cousin Wally were doing at the funeral?”
And, finally, above all else, please remember that a funeral
is about paying your respects to the deceased and his or her family. With that
in mind,
DO remember that this day, and those following, are not
about you (unless you’re the bereaved or the deceased, of course). So, DO keep
your mouth shut about whatever drama has been bugging you for the last ten
years or so.
DON’T air your drama at the funeral, in the condolence card
or, God forbid, on Facebook! Time and a place, people. Time and a place!
****
Tamsin grinned as she put down the last page. “Too snarky?”
I asked.
“Is there really such a thing?” she countered.
“T, really.”
“No,” she said. “It’s just snarky enough. It works, really.
Without the snark, the article would be a dead bore, no pun intended.”
“Um, thanks?”
“No, not what you wrote, but the topic itself. I mean, who
wants to read about funeral etiquette? But this is fun. And there are some good
points in it at the same time. I like it. Submit it.”
“Thanks,” I said, finally relaxing. I gathered up the pages
while Tamsin ruffled Roxie’s fur.
“Anytime,” she said. “Now, back to the important stuff – are
you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me about you and Michael?”
Not today there isn’t!
