That's Not Funny, That's Sick

We manage to get out of the house without any punches being thrown.  Estelle is speaking in deafening tones. Bill is pontificating about something no one has a shred of interest in. More eye rolling. Where is the vodka?

We arrive at graduation and park.  I refrain from locking Estelle in the car. I know not how.

We make our way to our reserved seats.  Jack's family is already there. Jack and Charlotte's older boys sit in their row. Jack and Charlotte and I take our booby seats next to Estelle and Bill. I am next to Bill. I may not be able to keep my hands off of his throat.

But we have perfect seats. Perfect view of Griff and a perfect view for people watching.

There is a lady in a bright pink Easter suit and hat with sequins. And a corsage to match.

There is a lady who has tied her hair into a bun with a men's dark sock.  Gold Toe, to be specific.

There is the student vocalist who makes angry homicidal faces while signing hymns.

There are the parents who graduated with me from college who were once married but are now divorced. He looks like he needs a new iron. She doesn't seem to know how awry the back of her hairdo has gone.  They are seated in opposite sections of the crowd.  How nice for their graduation child.

It gives me an excuse to keep my head turned toward Charlotte, who is on my right, and avoid any inadvertent conversation with Bill and Estelle who are on my left. 

Charlotte and I are having a ripping good time snarking in hushed tones. She draws my attention to a particularly bizarrely groomed woman off to my left, and I laugh out loud against my better judgment.

My mother is certain that Charlotte and I have made a joke at her expense and gives me her famous hairy eyeball. Not that it is outside the realm of possibility that we'd have a few yukks on her dime. But we hadn't. Not this time (We'd get to that later).  Estelle adopts a pissy posture for the remainder of Mass. Shares a hushed snarky comment or two with Bill just to let me know my ass is in the ringer.

And maybe it was that moodiness that led to the exchange of unpleasantness - quite audible, I might add - when neither of them could read any of the dials or screens on their new camera and Mom kept letting the screen go to sleep while she tried to figure out how to take a picture, the opportunities for which kept passing them by.  Her big complaint was they the operating guide that explains all the bells and whistles is not a booklet. It's on line.  A travesty.

It's like watching Lucy and Desi.  Only dark and disturbed. Full of comedy but absent any real levity or charm. Or cleverness. It's just annoying. They are a spectacle.

I can see my nephews shoulders shaking as they try to stifle their laughter. I am sure they are not the only ones to have noticed.  I am also sure that they are in the minority that they find it funny and not disgraceful.

An overwhelming desire to vanish overtakes me.