At the wedding this past Sunday, I was seated at a table with my good friend Susan and five Canadians. Since I have a fondness for Canadians (hello, Moose), one might think, at first glance, that this seems promising for yours truly. However, two of the Canadians are the chosson’s nephews, and even younger than me. I asked the one sitting next to me if he was old enough to drink yet. His response: “Yes…In Israel.” The other nephew isn’t yet old enough to drive. They’re going to be heartbreakers when they get older, though. But on with the story.
Susan and I get into conversation with one of the chosson’s good friends. He is very personable and easy to talk to. (Before any of you start to get ideas, he’s also happily married with three children.) At one point, early on in the evening, he asks both of us what we do. We respond, and then ask him the same question. “I’m in the funeral and monument business,” he says.
What exactly is one supposed to say in response to that? You tell me.
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