This has been one of those days I don't ever really want to think about again, so I'll just tell y'all en masse, and put it in a black hole. Cool? Cool.
Back story. My cousin, we'll call her TJ, dropped her basket a bit. She got mad that her third husband-to-be didn't want a big wedding complete with red bow ties. She tried to kill him with scissors. Her mother came over. She tried to scissor her, too. TJ went to the Behavioral Health Unit, the fiance put her stuff in storage, her mother and ex-husband got custody of the kids for a year, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.
This week, TJ's father, who has been fighting cancer, passed away. Needless to say, she's hanging on by a thread. Now I'm not in her corner, but it's hard not to feel just a little mercy for someone in her sitch.
Picture it: Funeral home today. TJ is clinging to me like a life preserver. She hasn't seen her kids because of a restraining order. She asks, "When are my kids coming?" "Well, your ex-husband's bringing them, honey, and your mother's coming, too." She decides that she will ask them both to leave, creating a little scene for the town to talk about. Neither of them really need to be there. (She's right. Her ex-husband doesn't have any business there. Her mother just wants to upstage the second, grieving wife. Apples and trees. Apples and trees.) I'm as nervous as a whore in church. Mercifully, the other grandchildren start acting up, and I take them home. Cake, ice cream, and inappropriate Dutch Tulip mani/pedis all around.
Apparently, they played Elvis's "Dixie" as part of the funeral music. It's actually very appropriate for him. He was quite the Southern gentleman. Only his nanny from the early '50s walked in right as the music started. Faux pas.
A few more meltdowns at the family bereavement after the service. Threats of calling the police due to one of the children not being allowed to attend. General nastiness. Sobbing. All over red freakin' bow ties.
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