On Thursday, I attended the funeral of my first husband's mother. She was a kind and generous woman and she'll be missed.
She was also from West Virginia, and as country as using corncobs for toilet paper.
When the procession arrived at the cemetery, we all got out of our cars and ambled toward the grave-site, only to discover that the driver of the hearse had somehow locked the keys -- along with the casket -- inside.
And as we were standing around, waiting for another set of keys to arrive, I tried to stifle the little voice in my head that kept retelling me this joke:
Did you hear about the briar who locked his keys inside his car?
Took him three days to get his family out.
Bon voyage, belle mere. Say "hi" to Geno, and Guy and Bobby for me.