Grave humour and family fights.

I often annoy my family by being me. I have no intention of offending anyone, yet, somehow, I manage to put my foot in it. A lot.
And apparently, when mum says 'what is wrong with you?' shrugging and saying 'I don't know, you tell me. You raised me' is not an appropriate response. Who knew?!

Part of the problem is that my sense of humour is a little (ok, a lot) darker than my mum's or my sister's. Danger? Emotion? Death? I laugh in it's skeletal face! There's nothing like a joke to lighten the mood.
They're all like 'lets talk about things, get it all out and have a nice cry and a group hug' I'm more of a 'make snide comment, crack a joke, don't make physical contact, consider punching a wall' kind of a girl.
While they go into panic mode when, for instance, a family member collapses at the lunch table, I'm the one doing the practical things and saying 'oh dear. that IS bad timing, we haven't had pudding. Shall I call an ambulance, or just get the shovel out?' (I was 15 at the time. I call that mature beyond my years.)


My sister, mum and I went over to tidy up my grandparents' grave over the weekend, as it was my Grannie's birthday recently (as if she's bothered..  Gran! Gran! Helloo? Gran, wake up, you're missing the party!....).
As we're neatening up the grass I notice the grave mound has finally gone almost flat to match my step-grandpa Michael's. And I start a constant stream of comments.

'oooh, grannie! you've lost a bit of weight!'
'Ali. Stop it.'
'Short back and sides, gran? *snip snip* going anywhere nice on your holidays? ....... no. Funny that. You're quiet today *notice patch of scrubby earth* oooh, gran, you're getting a bald patch!'
Sister giggles, mum rolls eyes.
Mum: 'I wonder if I could get a plot next to them, here *points at ground*
Me: that's the footpath. Maybe you could have a little space at their feet? Curl up like a cat.
*disapprovingly* 'Ali....'
'You could earmark the space now. Maybe wee on it. Mark your territory.'
*angry noises*
'oooh! maybe you could go between them. Like cosying up in bed when you're little! HIIII MUUUUM, HIII DAAAAD!'
'*blanks me* I don't think we brought enough flowers. It looks a bit empty. It needs more colour. *spies another grave* That's a nice arrangement! Look at the flowers on that grave, they're nice. I'm going to go and have a look.
*loud enough for anyone to hear*'MUM!  You cannot take flowers from someone else. That's called grave robbing. I forbid it.'
 *angry hiss*'Ali, just shut up! Of course I'm not going to!'
'*innocent smile* Right. Let's go and check it out. See who's new in the neighbourhood.'

The grave turned out to contain 2 people in one plot.

Mum: 'I suppose they're stacked up.'
Sister: 'No, maybe they're top to tail'
Me: 'What, an eternal 69? *pulls face* Mmm, lovely.'
Mum: 'ALI! STOP IT! '

 I love jokes in graveyards. I remember at the funeral, while they were lowering my loud, talkative, dramatic, party loving, verbal-diarrhoea-inflicted lovely gran in next to grandpa, my sister was sobbing semi-hysterically, my mum looked shell shocked, my aunt looked like she might try and climb in with the coffin, and I was wondering what the wake catering would be like, my half-brother leaned over and whispered 'poor Michael, he was promised eternal peace - he only got 7 years.' I laughed outloud.

Apparently, that's not the done thing.