If one of your late ancestors were to come back from the dead and join you for dinner, what things about your family would this person find the most shocking? From The Daily Post.
He looked a bit rough around the edges. Course, being in the grave for sixty years might do that to a fellow. Or maybe he’d been ugly-as-sin during life. For Grandma’s sake, I hoped the latter hadn’t been true.
In a woo-woo voice he intoned, “I have come to judge your worth.”
“Yeah, come on in Marley.” I stepped back, allowing him to half shuffle, half fall, into the hallway. I was so used to the kids odd friends that one more weirdo at the table wasn’t going to be a problem at all.
“Honey,” I called. “One more for dinner.” I could imagine her smile covering up some choice words I’d no doubt hear later.
“I know no Marley,” Grandpa protested, voice grave-stiff.
“No matter,” I assured him. “Just a joke that… obviously… went nowhere.” Does nobody have a sense of humor anymore?
I led him down the hall, through the toy-scattered family room, and into the dining room. Everybody else was at the table. My wife, Honey, stood by the far end, smile pasted on her face. She was dressed in the short black skirt and low-cut blouse I loved so much.
To her left sat Molly, our five-year old, and her friend Grace, both dressed in costumes depicting some unknown fluffy puppy-horse-cat-bear. Long ears draped from their headbands. Today they were Molly and Gracie, bay and Palomino horses respectively.
Next to the horses sat the goth component of our family and her friend, Sarah. Sarah and Suzie. Like in that old movie, a’ double blackout’ with pale faces, black lips, nails and eyelids. Plus enough attitude to fill a hot-air balloon.
On the other side of the table sat Mark (our son), Jason and Jasper. The Three Musketeers. They had been working on their current backyard film project so all three were decked out in a variety of gory zombie makeup.
“You know I don’t like zombies at the table,”I said pointedly.
“Sorry, Dad,” Mark mumbled, his friends giggling under their breaths.
“Humph.” I turned to Grandpa. “Grandpa, this is the family. Family, welcome Grandpa.”
A chorus of ‘hi’s’ and ‘hello’s’ filled the air. Grandpa looked around the table, eyes widening as they took us in one by one. By the time his attention returned to me, it was all over. Shuffling a turn, Grandpa raced down the hall as fast as his little undead legs could carry him. The front door slammed shut.
“Damn Undead,” I growled. “How many more relatives do we have, Honey?”
“About fifteen more I known about,” she responded. “So, there is light at the end of the tunnel.
“Thank goodness.” I grinned, sitting. “Pass the pork chops.”
Tomorrow was another day.