This morning on the way to school I told The Pony about an article I read in the paper. Just because, you know, I'm sure he has nothing better to do than be my captive audience while he sits in the passenger seat behind me, where I can barely see a corner of his face in the rearview mirror. As opposed to the frontview mirror, I suppose. I don't know who came up with that name. Probably the same folks who made "new baby" happen. And not Gretchen Wieners.
"Hey! I read that the funeral home caught on fire. There was supposed to be a funeral later than afternoon, but they had to move it to a church. The electrical panel burst into flames, and the worker dumped powder on it. I don't know if that's a good idea, because I know powder can start a flash fire. But that's what the paper said. I don't know what kind of powder they'd have in a funeral home."
"Oh, they do make a powder to put out fires. Because, like with a grease fire, you can't use water or it will spread."
"I guess they had some at the funeral home. The fire department called the electric company to come shut it off at the transformer, and another fire department from the next town covered the firehouse while they were watching the funeral home. Now nobody can have a funeral there until it gets inspected and declared safe again."
"You mean safe enough so a dead body won't get hurt?"
"I don't think that's what it means. That people can't have a funeral there. Wouldn't that be terrible, to have your family member there, getting ready for the funeral, and then it catches on fire?"
"That's what you'd call a bad omen."
"Yeah. Hopefully not a foreshadowing of where they're going."
We are not socially acceptable sometimes, The Pony and I.