Today I went to the funeral of the woman we know as The Dragon. The Dragon sat at her table drinking coffee from a tea cup and smoking. When I was younger I would yell at her for smoking on me, especially when I had clean hair. She usually told me to fuck off. When Spongecake gave her some grandkids smoking would occasionally take place out the back garden. This was the woman to whom Panties apologised to after pouring hot oil from the deep fryer all over her arm (said arm was so badly burned that Panties needed a skin graft to replace it). After apologising, my friend then cleaned the floor of the oil that had carelessly missed her arm.
The Dragon has been cremated with a Frys Chocolate Cream in the coffin with her, which I was told about by the family as they expressed their horror upon discovering her husband, their father, trying to steal it in a moment of starvation at the funeral home. After expressing my solidarity with this action I very nearly didn’t an invite to the funeral, which turned out to be the season’s social highlight, with uileann pipes playing her entrance, Elvis welcoming us and Luke Kelly singing her through her cremation.
Afterwards, soup sandwiches and smiling and I find myself now thinking how I’d like to travel from this world, and if a Dairy Milk would be safe with my ghost in the coffin?