I have three: two funerals and a classroom.

First funeral was my Mom's. We had a simple service for her. She wanted it to be informal, fun, and not stuffy. So we just hung around and chatted and I made up several of her favorite desserts (she was known for baking) and we had a good time. Well I had asked several people to bake desserts and bring them, because Mom always made everything from scratch. I specifically asked that no one bring store bought cookies. So of course my mother-in-law, who is the queen of passive-aggression, brought Oreos because she does things like that. Well I put them out and just gritted my teeth because it wasn't worth the battle. A few minutes later my Dad's sister walks up (this lady and my Mom were VERY close) and says very loudly, "Who the hell brought Oreos? Jesus Christ, Sharon is probably rolling around in that pit of a hole right now! Get this shit off the table! Nobody is going to eat that garbage!" I looked up just in time to see my mother-in-law look like she got kicked in the face and my aunt wildly shoveling Oreos into a plastic bag, all while cursing under her breath. I completely lost it. I mean, gut wrenching, bent over hysterics. I had to excuse myself from the room. My husband wanted to kill me. My brother was on the other side of the room with his best friend (whom I refer to as my sister) attempting to not crack up laughing. My Mom's best friend wandered over to the table to help my aunt shovel shit in the bag, all while ranting about how I specifically asked that no one bring shitty cookies. It was so perfectly timed that I could not believe it. To make this all better, my Aunt has Diabetes and couldn't eat a thing on the table and my Mom's friend can't bake. They still to this day have no clue that my mother-in-law brought them or that I was pissed that she did. I like to think my Mom was whispering in their ears.

Second funeral: My husband's maternal grandfather. Grandpa was my best friend in my husband's family. He was 99 when he died, and he made it no secret that he liked me more than a large number of people in his family. At the wake the evening before the service, we did this "memory share" where anyone who wanted was supposed to stand up and share memories of Grandpa. He was a fixture in our community and did a lot with his church and other community outreach, so this place was packed. Several people had taken their turn and it was getting very obvious that no one in the family had gone yet. Everyone was kind of nudging everyone else and it was getting really awkward, so finally I said fuck it and stood up to get the family going. Now most people before me had told some sweet stories of Grandpa or some mildly funny things. Some were really touching. A couple verged on the innappropriately hilarious, because most of the time, Grandpa was being hilarioiusly vulgar. Well this very old nun stands up and tells this touching story of how Grandpa would always make sure they had everything they needed at the convent and would bring them food and supplies in bad weather and then she says, "oh and his whiskey sours! Well let's just say we loved those!" (He would mix whiskey sour up in huge jugs and take it to the Sisters.) Well it comes to my turn and the only story I can think of was from the 2nd time I ever met Grandpa. I was 19 years old, and my husband and I had only been dating for few months. We had gone over to his parents for Christmas. Grandpa was there and said to me, "Hey Baby! How you doing over there? Come on over here and let me get a good look at'cha!" I wander over and give him a big hug. "My, you sure are looking mighty fine for a young girl! If you ever decide to ditch this loser (he points at my husband) and get yourself a real man, you just let me know. I'll be waiting for you baby!"

Reddit, I told this story at my husband's grandfather's funeral. The entire congregation, Priests, and Nuns start cracking up. His family is laughing so hard that no one can breathe. It was the culmination of a ridiculous week. It was so thoroughly Grandpa, and I nailed it so well, that people were coming up afterward to "meet the girl Grandpa hit on." After my story, some other family members told stories. We all tried to out do each other with our vulgar stories. Grandpa would have been proud.

Last one was in high school. We were in Health class and the teacher said something funny. It was funny in a way that the whole class laughed about it for a good minute, but then everyone quieted down and he started teaching again. Except me. Something in my nitwit little brain clicked and I could not stop laughing. The more I tried to stop, the harder I laughed. When it was getting embarrassing, I laughed harder. And then I fell out of my desk, which hurt really bad and made me laugh even more. I was laughing so hard that my muscles were spasming and I was crying. I had to excuse myself from class and sit in the commons (which was right outside class) for a good 10-15 minutes. I walked back into class finally, and someone called me a spaz and I started laughing again. My teacher says, "Damnit! Who got her started again?! Go back outside!" I was finally able to chill out. It was the most awkward, bizarre thing that I can remember not being able to control; just like highschool.