In my felonious family…we laugh at everything. EVERYTHING. It is, in fact, the only reason most of us are still alive.
Most of us.
For example, when my GORGEOUS, GLAMOROUS little sister, Julia, tragically died from a drug overdose nearly seven years ago, she had been dead for several days before she was found. Obviously, in that situation, she did not retain the pulchritude in death that she SO famously enjoyed in life. Alive? She was STUNNING. In death? SHE LOOKED LIKE SHREK.
During the HORRIFIC and UNIMAGINABLE week that followed for myself and my family…the first joke was made right around day three — and it was made by ME.
I announced to my over half a dozen shell-shocked siblings, who were all gathered on the floor of a huge walk-in closet at another sister’s house — draped all over each other in a massive, wailing, weeping, cabal/puppy pile of grief and booze and prescription drugs — “Jesus Christ, if Julia knew how MOTHERFUCKING BLOATED, GREEN, and HIDEOUS she looked right now all laid out on that goddamned coroner’s slab, SHE’D FUCKING KILL HERSELF ALL OVER AGAIN.”
You CANNOT IMAGINE THE MAGNIFICENT PEALS OF BELLY LAUGHTER that followed. The relief. The release. The TRUTH.
It really was glorious.
SHE was glorious.
And had she been there…she would have belly laughed harder than any of us.