Primo: I had a morbid thought.
Primo: What if my mom dies?
Me: Well, she is going to.
Primo: I mean soon.
Me: Well. That is a possibility.
Primo: I know.
Me: Would there be a funeral?
Primo: I don't know.
Me: If there were a funeral, I expect I would need to go. But if there is no funeral....
Primo: I was thinking I should take something to wear to a funeral back with me.
Me: Or you could leave something that I could take. I mean, if there is a funeral, I would be going.
Primo: Yes! Good idea! What about what I am wearing now? [He is wearing dark slacks, a blue shirt, a tie, and a dark sport coat.]
Me: That would work.
Primo: Not too casual?
Me: Not for a funeral home. It's not like your dad would have anything in a church.
Me: The only thing is-
Me: The dress I wore to my dad's funeral? I never wore it again. I gave it to charity.
Primo: Oh sweetie. I'm sorry.
Primo: I wish I could have known your dad.
Me: He would have really liked you.
Primo: I would have liked him.
[We both pause as we - or, at least, as I - think about the injustice of Sly being alive and mean to people, while my dad, who was beloved, is dead. My dad, who didn't even have his seventh-grade math students at the DOD school at Sigonella Navy Base on Sicily for an entire semester, but for whom those students had not one but two bake sales to raise the money to buy a yearbook for him and mail it to him with all their signatures. My dad, to whose funeral in a small town with no stoplights flew friends from around the US, one couple bearing a ham in their laps. Sly, alive. My dad, dead. Not fair.]
Primo: I don't think I would attach that kind of importance to my clothes.
Primo: Why don't I just put everything here and if you need to come, you bring them?