Freshly Dusted

This morning, I was utterly destroying my best friend in a game of Smash, who had made the mistake of playing PacMan. “Die, Die, Die,” I chanted, but somehow he wriggled out of my character’s grasp and hopped back up. Gritting my teeth, I leapt back up as well, taking my shot.

My uncle chose that moment to barge in, and though I was used to such entrances, it still caught me off guard. Today was especially odd, for instead of his normal clown clothes and red trousers, he wore a full-blown tuxedo, had combed his hair back, and didn’t seem to be wearing any kind of makeup.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“We’re going to your aunt’s wedding,” he replied.

“You’re getting married?” The news was enough for me to pause the game despite the annoyed cries of my friend.

“No, your aunt is.”

I groaned, immediately thinking of Aunt Kylie, an annoyingly matronly woman who would never pass up an opportunity to kiss me on the cheek and ruffle my hair. She also completely misunderstood what boys my age liked to do, often giving me card games and clothing with toy cars on it for my birthday.

I turned back to Smash and clicked play. “I’m not going to go.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Come on, get dressed, we’re heading out.”

I made no response, and he walked around to the back of my console and started pulling cords out of the side.

“Okay! Okay!” I shouted. Rolling my eyes, I yanked off my headpiece and muttered across the line, “You’re going down as soon as I get back.”

Fast forward twenty minutes, and I’m sitting in the front seat of the vehicle, pounding on the horn and waiting for my uncle. I’m dressed in my best, sweltering in the noontime heat.

Then there he came, walking around the side of the house, an expression of pure befuddlement on his face.

“Will you quit that honking? We’re all in the backyard already.”

Confused, I hop out and head around to the backyard, but there’s nothing there but the fence, grass, and anthills.

“Did you seriously call me out here just to get me all dressed up and prank me?”

His façade breaks, and I can tell now he must have been holding back those guffawing laughs indoors.

“Your aunt!” he exclaims. “Your aunt!”

“What?”

He pulls out a flyer he pieced together in Photoshop and hands it to me. An ant wearing a bridal gown adorns the front page, with burial services succeeding it on the inside page.

I roll my eyes and storm back into the house, muttering, “A pun an’t worth this much trouble.”