My great, great grandmother was quite a character all her life. When she passed away, the family gathered for the funeral, and milled around, sharing stories in subdued voices about memories of her.

Shortly before everyone began to file into the room, the funeral director came in. He was looking very frazzled, and wringing his hands. He apologized profusely, and said that the funeral couldn’t start yet; her body wasn’t there!

Apparently, the morgue sent her to the wrong funeral parlor, in an entirely different city! The hearse was on its way to pick her up, but… well… the funeral was going to be delayed.

There was a beat of silence, and then the entire family managed to start laughing.

My great, great grandma had always told the family that she was always late, and would likely be late to her own funeral. She was! About two hours late to be exact.

The story is now family legend, of how great, great grandma was late to her own funeral, and it was the one family funeral that was conducted with snickers and giggling.

I usually have very vivid dreams — so vivid that sometimes I wake up confused as to why I’m not where I was in the dream. Tonight, I dreamed that my husband turned evil and came home with an evil Superman to destroy our books. I, of course, couldn’t let that happen, so I started punching them, kicking them, and trying to fight them, but they were ridiculously strong and nothing worked. At some point in the dream, they burned the books, so I poured some water over them. The bad guys then proceeded to spill an entire bucket of water over all the books, even those not burnt or burning.

I told my “evil” husband that he wasn’t allowed to touch the books unless he treated them with respect.

He made a noise, and then I smacked him in the face, only to realize with a start that it was a dream, because I actually smacked him in reality. He jumped up, super startled, and I could only apologize.

As I related to him the dream and the reason behind smacking him, we couldn’t stop laughing about the whole thing.

(I live on campus in a dorm with three other friends, two of whom are twin sisters. [Twin #1] has a habit of talking in her sleep. I am chilling in the living room of our dorm with my roommate. [Twin #1] is napping, and [Twin #2] is not home at the moment.)

Twin #1: “[Twin #2]! Hey, [Twin #2]!”

(Hearing the shouting, [Roommate] and I go into the twins’ room to investigate. [Twin #1] is still calling out for her sister, sound asleep.)

Roommate: “[Twin #2] isn’t here. What can we do for you?”

Twin #1: “I want… pizza.”

Roommate: *trying not to laugh loudly and wake her* “What kind of pizza do you want, [Twin #1]?”

Twin #1: *pauses* “LIFE PIZZA.”

(She then fell back into her quiet nap while our roommate and I cracked up laughing. [Twin #1] doesn’t remember saying anything, but several years after graduation, we still haven’t let her forget!)

(I am in seventh-grade health class, and we have come to the week we all dread and are fascinated by: sex ed. The teacher is telling us about the changes in our bodies and how boys may sometimes get erections for no reason at all. Then, he says the sentence that I will remember for the rest of my life:)

Teacher: “Guys, if you get an erection while watching Lassie, it does not mean you love dogs.”

(When my son started puberty, I definitely shared this gem with him!)

(My dad relayed this story to me from when he was in high school. He and his friends are at a restaurant waiting to be seated when this happens:)

Waitress: “Okay, and how many are in your party?”

Friend: *looking around* “Several.”

Waitress: “Um… Okay. And can I get a name?”

Friend: “Bob. We’re all named Bob. Well, this guy’s Billy Bob, he’s Billy Joe Bob, and that one’s Billy Joe Jim Bob. But you can just call us Bob.”

Waitress: *laughing* “And what do you do for a living?”

Friend: “We’re rodeo riders.”