In Which Jaymes Would Be Actively Prohibited From Putting the "Fun" in "Funeral"
I think that I found a new, irrevocable reason to avoid marriage. For me. For me to avoid marriage. Marriage is an awesome idea, but I've gradually been realising that I'd be absolutely terrible at it. There are other reasons. Myriads. Over the past six years, they’ve been slowly building, and their sheer magnitude recently became impossible to ignore. Most of them, however, are theoretically negotiable. You know how it is. Some of them could be avoided with the right partner. Others could be erased if I were more willing to change. But this fresh one seems too abhorrent to even permit thoughts of correction. I’m terrible at dressing up for things. You know that I can dress up. Everyone does. But this sort of dressing up is just my alternative to dressing down, which is something that is still traumatically difficult for me. I’m not actually dressing up for anything. “Up” merely signifies the general direction of my dressing, but the exact vectors are left to me. Dressing up for occasions that aren’t specifically focused on my onstage spasms generally involves a trajectory that’s been planned without my input. Fortunately, I am rarely placed in positions that necessitate my refusal to attend such functions. If I were to marry, I would theoretically be placed in those positions more often, but I highly doubt that any woman who’d even countenance the idea of marrying me would insist on managing my attire for an acquaintance’s holiday ball. Have you ever wondered why people die? Listen. I’m not going to say that the gods invented death purely to create a type of gathering wherein my gauche ignorance of any semblance of sartorial subtlety would seem actively disrespectful. I’m just saying that it’s a workable theory. Now, in my life, the only funerals that fall within the bounds of my notice are held in honour of those who’re close to me. Everyone grieves in his own way, and no one’s really going to tell me that I’m improperly dressed to mourn my loved one. I suppose that I don’t technically grieve, but if I care about someone enough to attend his funeral, it’s probably because he’s had a presence in my life that can’t be diminished by death. With that in mind, what reason do I have to grieve? Maybe that’s why I never had a problem with “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull”. It couldn’t do anything to detract from my experience of its predecessors because that experience had already happened. Actually, that can’t be the reason at all. I just happened to enjoy that film. Anyway, no one presently has a reason to invite me to a stranger’s funeral. But all of that changes with a spouse. Obviously, there are the common discomforts that come with the melding of families, but I could probably avoid a lot of that. You only really see your partner’s people at holidays. Right? And those are festive events. And I’m always festive. But that’s why funerals are terrible. You’re there purely as an adjunct to your spouse, and that’s a role that leaves very little room for personal eccentricities. That’s when I’d be out of options, wouldn’t it? That’s when I’d have to throw on a suit. A suit I don’t own. One with trousers through which the contours of my legs are not immediately visible. One that’s not shiny at all. And I’d probably just fall asleep anyway. And that’s why I can’t get married.
Bonus Question!
Best funeral? The fiery kind.