People around me have the most peculiar sense of casual talk. I get talking about clothes, about national affairs, about the soccer team or even puberty issues. What I don’t get is people talking about other people – who are very much dead.
I admit that I hear more news of people dying than I hear weather updates, but that isn’t a reason to go on and on about death. Its kinda hard to laugh at a joke when two seats away a man is mourning the mother who passed away ten years ago. It’s a buzz-kill if there ever was one.
True, the talk about death is alarming at first, but then you get used it to the point that you forget ever being weirded out. It’s natural. Despite that, the talk is never helps the appetite. I have nothing against dead people, at least not yet. Its not exactly routine to hold a grudge against the dead, but I’m finding the task increasingly easy with each day that passes.
Without fail, the gist of the conversations concerning the dead are dripping with sugar. No matter if the person in question is a world famous serial killer, after death, they usually are in league with the most pious saints that walked the face of the earth.
I remember a lady that used to live in a cottage nearby. Mad old bat she was, if I dare say so myself. But after the blessed event of her death, she was talked about like mother Teresa’s reincarnation.
Did you hear about the poor old woman that died a week ago, what a sweet lady she was, I always saw her tending to the plants along the driveway.
I think I must have missed that, I was too busy watching her beat the stray dog shitless. Seemed more important at the time. My mistake.