Inappropriate Laughter

On Facebook this morning, a friend had a random quote generated for today which said, "Did you ever noticed that things are so much funnier when you're not supposed to laugh and you know it's so wrong to!"

Smothering giggles behind hymnbooks seems to be a family tradition of sorts. Some of lifes funniest moments have happened for me in church pews all across America. There usually isn't a specific pinpoint moment I can blame for the hilarity, but sometimes the moment is completely well defined and I am not the only one who shares the sidesplitting, snicker smothering, choking hazard giggles behind the organ or piano.

I can recall numerous times where laughter replaced the sermon and where solemn occasions were rendered humerous with the snort of a suppressed snicker.

It isn't like it was meant to be inappropriate... it just happens.

Funerals, for whatever reason, seem to bring out the worst in me. Because I have been taught and believe so very strongly that this mortal life isn't all that there is, the sorrow of a loved one passing is often replaced with joy... or as we like to call it, a fit of the giggles.

My great-aunt Effie's funeral was such an event.

She was a simple country housewife from back in the day. Plain dresses and her hair done up in a bun, Aunt Effie was not a fashion plate because that would be against everything in her nature and character. A decent woman didn't draw attention to herself. It just wasn't done.

We went to Sylacauga for the funeral. She had been a simple and quiet woman whose life had been visited by more grief than anyone should have to endure. Though troubled with the ills of life, she was always genial and kind, even when others were not. I can see her in my mind’s eye standing on the porch of a small home wearing a faded print housedress and her hair pulled back into a severe bun. She was a gentle and kind woman who seemed out of place in a world that was increasingly forgetting manners for what feels good at the moment. An oasis of calm in a turbulent time, Aunt Effie was a paradox.


Because her daily attire seldom varied from the very simple clothing and worn shoes that she owned she was a reassuring constant in an era where conformity of any stripe was considered backward. Though she generally wore printed cotton housedresses, she had one solid colored dark navy dress that she would wear to church with a large brooch on the front that was about as old as she was.

The one moment of incongruity came at her funeral. Her passing, though somewhat of an anticipated occurrence due to her age, was a moment that revealed the level of preparedness we all come to when someone has died, whether suddenly or due to natural consequence as expected. In her case, whoever was asked to take care of selecting the clothing, or perhaps the undertaker himself, must not have known her very well, if at all. And when we went forward to pay our respects to her in the church service for her funeral, we discovered that we apparently didn’t know her either.

There, in the coffin was Aunt Effie. At least that is what the program said. But it was certainly not any Aunt Effie that we knew. Arrayed in a 2 piece, mod style, shocking purple pants suit and a white blouse bedecked with ruffles and frills, Aunt Effie lay like a model from a clothing catalogue showcasing garish clothing that during her lifetime she never would have been caught dead in. . . . until that day. Either someone bought it for her and she politely declined to wear it, or someone from the funeral home bought it. The effect was to continue beyond the clothing.

Her hair, which was normally in a tight bun and bobby pinned into place, had been teased up into a bouffant ‘do, and would have looked great on one of the Supremes. If the congregation at the church heard us all stifle our gasps, they were too polite to mention it. We simply couldn’t look at each other and keep it together with a straight face!

Although the aged and weathered little face in the coffin was familiar, nothing else about her was. Worse yet, we were expected to sing some of her favorite hymns with the choir. Have you ever tried to sing anything when you are desperately trying to keep from laughing out loud?

Understand that we were sad to see her go. But also understand that the image of this genteel soul dressed as if she was to be the next guest on the Ed Sullivan Show was more than we could keep under control. Momma hissed to us to ‘‘hush up!” and Daddy threw us his infamous evil eye. Their warnings slid off of us like bacon off of Teflon. It was just too dang funny!

For my part, I selected a point in the room that had a nice light fixture at which to stare. Kari became absorbed in the construction of the hymnal she was holding. We managed to hide our snickers behind the hymnbooks when the spasm of laughter threatened to spring forth. Evidently, we were better actresses than we knew with our fake sad faces. Afterwards, one of the ladies from her church told my parents that they could see how we had struggled to keep our emotions in check. She expressed her deep sympathy and hoped we would feel better. We had to duck out and flee to the station wagon at that point to maintain our composure.

It was just too bad that our composure didn’t last once we made it to the cars for the ride to the cemetery. We laughed, we cried, we hooted about that purple monstrosity that even Saint Peter would have been shocked to see. We just could imagine him asking her for positive I.D. and possible fingerprinting, saying “You can’t be Effie - she never dressed like that!” Although we had no proof since we couldn’t see her feet, Kari and I decided that Aunt Effie was most certainly wearing the flattering white, knee high go-go boots that would bring the ensemble all together. It was just more than we could stand.

By the time we reached the cemetery, we were compelled to stand at a distance to keep the funeral followers from hearing us snicker and snort. We didn’t mean to bring any disrespect to the solemn proceedings. Sadly, the image of the small woman who spent her days in the simplest, most modest clothing being sent to her eternal reward in a getup that would have looked more at place in a disco was just too much for our imaginations to let go by without taking it in and expanding the vision of just what Aunt Effie could do with that outfit.


Sometimes, laughter is medicine. Like a healing balm that helps us over the troubled times, we can laugh at our trials and make them a bit lighter.

Sometimes, laugher is just an explosion of sound to punctuate the emotional rollercoaster of hilarity that is lying just beneath the surface of calm.

Either way, laughter can be a balm in a world filled with restrictions and rules that are sometimes just too hard to take.

I think I may go out and buy myself a really garish purple pantsuit and wear it to church as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

If one person laughs, my job will be done.