My grandmother died this autumn. I could not imagine such a shit and shabby. All day to decide what and how much to put in the grave, in which hand, in what to wrap. Each of the grandmothers has their own opinion about this, which they have heard somewhere or have just come up with. Couldn’t you have decided for so many years?
One finally remembers having to put a doll in the grave! of course! Everyone is friendly. Then they are divided into two fundamentally different camps, some think you need to put in the right hand, others in the left! Long to argue. They put a doll in the grave. Where did they find her? They went to a barbie shop. It is fucking. A man is buried with a Barbie in his hand. Not for the orchestra.
Then come the buriers with the manual "from the father": when they bring the tomb - everyone must quickly sit down, who sat the last, stays in the house and turns the tables when the others leave. Everyone does not understand the meaning of this gymnastics, they try to repeat actions with dull eyes, confuse everything, decide in their own way. For politeness, they pretend they did everything according to the rules. Pop writes manuals according to the principle of "to come up with such a little more next time".