Is THAT the dead guy?

Old family friend kicked off and I ended up in a situation where I had no choice but to take my 7 year old daughter with to the viewing at a local funeral home. I mean, I hate those damned things anyway. She and I had this big question and answer/explanation session before going. She was cool. She had it all together. I told her that we wouldn't have to go right up to the casket. To say she seemed disappointed is the understatement of the day:

Me: Honey, we won't go right up to him or anything.
Her: NO! I want to. I've never SEEN a dead guy before.
Me: **muttering** F me.

We got home after work and school, she dressed herself all up in a cute little dress and off we went with Grandma in tow. She always comes with to things like this just to hear what’s gonna come out my kid’s mouth. Fruit didn’t fall far from the tree there. Got there and were talking to all the old friends we'd known for years and she was behaving like a perfectly polite little kid and I should have known something was up right then and there, but off and into the funeral home we went. Got in line.

Her: Why are we standing in line.
Me: We're waiting our turn to pay our respects.
Her: This costs money?
Me: No hon. Paying your respects means telling his family that your sorry he's gone and saying goodbye.
Her: <> oh okaaaaay. That doesn’t make sense.
Me: Yes. I know. Don’t ask.

As we progressed through the line, we eventually turned the corner into the main room where the family and the casket were located. Lindsey freezes in place, her eyes flew open wide and I don't think she blinked or breathed until I kicked her.
Me: **half hissing/half whispering** Honey, try not to stare.
Her: **still not blinking** At what?
Me: Mr. . . . oh hell, the dead guy. Don’t stare at the dead guy.
Huh? What? Oh. OK Um . . . .Mom?
Me: yes
Her: **pointing and whispering** Is that the dead guy?
Me: **whispering** Jeez, Linds, who do you think it is?
Her: **giggling** I thought so.

And the staring and subtle ankle thwapping continued until we reached the widow. Lindsey was polite and friendly and said she was sorry he was dead and all. The widow showed her the little cow, the mini green tractor and other agricultural type stuff hooked to the funeral flowers (he was a farmer) and up to the casket we went. She took it all in, we looked at the other flowers and out the door we went.

As we exited the funeral home onto the porch, Lindsey looked around, looked at me and said:

Her: Is that IT?
Me: Yup
Her: Yer kidding.
Me: Nope.
Her: You mean I got all dressed up for that?

Christ

Loaded her into the car and asked her if she had any questions or concerns and she said yes.

Her: He didn't look like I expected him to look.
Me: Honey, how did you expect him to look? You didn't even know him.
Her: He was all dressed up. He wasn’t even all gooey or anything.
Me: brief explanation about undertaking and presenting and that gooey thing.
Her: But he was wearing glasses.
Me: Uh huh.
Her: Why was he wearing glasses?

You see it coming, don't you. I didn't.

Me: Because he wore glasses in life.
Her: But MOM. He's DEAD. He can't SEE even WITH his glasses.

I floored it and got the hell out of there. My mother saw fit to cackle out loud half the way home until I threatened to stand the car up on two wheels if she didn't just pipe the hell down.