As the service went on I looked about. I recognised players I knew and we did the silent exchange of nods that says, "I acknowledge your presence. Isn't this awful. Hello".
And then I noticed the two girls sitting in the row in front of me and slightly along. They were clearly player girlfriends. Both pretty. Both made up. One in a sleeveless sheath dress and the other in... wait, surely not...
Yes, the other in gold shiny short shorts and heels. I was at the public funeral of one of the world's greatest athletes and someone had assumed that appropriate attire included disco-ware. Astonishing.
I'm not particularly staid and never conservative. I'd had hair and makeup done, but I'm pretty sure that in no etiquette book from this century or last, does it okay golden shorts and heels for any type of funeral.
Okay, maybe a West Coast rapper, but that's it. Full stop.
After it was all over and I was back in the car with everyone commenting on the proceedings I piped up: "Did anyone see the girl in the gold shorts and hooker heels?"
Everyone laughed.
"Trust you to notice that, Polly!" one of the guys replied, chuckling.
"How could I not?" I countered indignantly, "What planet are we on?"
Gold shorts to an almost "state" funeral? Remarkable. I'm officially ancient.
- nzherald.co.nz
Debate on this article is now closed.