Mourners look for solace in numerous means: some cry, some eat, some screw
On a Yelp forums, the question “where to flirt” in San Francisco ignited a strenuous debate. Jason D. rated funerals since the 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, before we married, I experienced fun following a funeral, at a shiva become precise. My pal’s elderly mother had died, and mourners collected in her own Bronx apartment when it comes to conventional Jewish ritual to demonstrate help to surviving nearest and dearest over rugelach. Given the decidedly unsexy setting—mirrors covered in black colored textile, hushed mourners for a circle of white plastic folding chairs—we nonetheless found myself flirting using the strawberry blonde wearing a black colored gown that still unveiled cleavage that is impressive. Linda (as I’ll call her) and I also commiserated with this shared buddy, but we had as yet not known their mom especially well. We quickly bonded over politics; Linda worked on the go and we usually covered it. Once the mourners started filtering down, we consented to share a taxi to Manhattan.
We shortly stopped at a tavern conveniently found near Linda’s apartment and ordered shots of whisky to toast our friend’s that are mutual. Though we felt just a little like Will Ferrell’s character Chazz from Wedding Crashers who trolls for females at funerals, we cheerfully hustled up to Linda’s destination for an enjoyable one-night stand, a pre-matrimonial notch for a gear we no more wear.
The memory of the post-shiva schtup popped up whenever my family and I attended an open-casket viewing to honor David, her good friend and colleague. Continue reading