I remember watching a movie about giant ants attacking a town and wondering why they didn’t just hold a giant picnic to lure the ants away.
“What happens when the picnic runs out of food?” my mother asked.
“That’s when the poison in it should start killing the ants,” I replied.
My mother smirked, then got a glassy look in her eyes.
And fell face-down in the Jell-o mold.
I cleared away the plates and dishes, packed them in the picnic basket, and wrapped her in the picnic blanket.
I’d have to go back to the car for the shovel.