Measure of a man is in his ‘widows’

I must say, not all men are equal.

Some are just way bigger than most of us. I noticed this the other day at a friend’s funeral.

It wasn’t really a funeral. It seems the days of funerals are a thing of the past. Nowadays it’s called a celebratory farewell or an after-tears or whatever.

The traditionalist in me refuses to accept this new terminology, although I do admit there must be a reason the word funeral starts with the letters F.U.N.

But back to the point. There I was, at my mate’s “funeral”.

We milled about, hugging, shaking hands, telling each other how unreal our reality is while at the same time looking for a cool thirst-quencher.

Although I had known my friend for decades, I was quite surprised at the number of strangers attending his grand farewell.

What struck me most, was that the women outnumbered the men by at least a handful.

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I politely introduced myself to some of the funeral “guests”, offering tissues as they wiped their running mascara from their cheeks.

Being an inquisitive type, I discreetly made a few inquiries. Of course I knew the weeping widow and of course I knew the weeping ex, but I was rather shocked when, after a round of offering shallow condolences, I realised that the number of “weeping widows” numbered the aforementioned handful.

Turned out the weeping widows included a lover, a former lover still in love and a scorned lover.

They were not discreet. Just their attire ensured all the eyes (of the men) were fully focused on them. Dressed in almost identical, tiny little black numbers, they could have been models.

I received a come-back-to earth jolt in the ribs from my other half when I dared take a second look.

Must say, the whole farewell went down without incident and we all said our last goodbyes.

To my friend, whose name I will not mention, even in death you are still the man.

Five weeping widows is quite a thing.