You went to Hawaii on your honeymoon and as luck would have it, a volcano erupted and killed your husband. He got caught in a shower of lava and he turned into one of those lava people who get preserved as an ashen sculpture in the exact position where they were standing. You kind of hate going to visit him on that pretty hill, because of all the people who got preserved by lava there, your husband is the only one who is both picking his nose and scratching his balls at the same time.
'He must have been a professional baseball player,' you'll hear the other tourists joking as they take pictures with their arms around his shoulders.
'Hey lava man, need help getting that boogie snot out?' another tourist will yell.
'Scratch that shit, lava man!' locals will shout from their car.
'I couldn't imagine having balls,' a female tourist will tell her companion as she passes your husband.
'They're awesome,' her companion will respond.
'He was a wonderful, warm, and endlessly loving man and the whole world should have fallen apart when he died,' you want to tell each and every one of them when they pass.
But you don't. Instead you stand before him and you call up your sweetest memories of him, of the day you met when by chance you both walked out of a restaurant together and walked in the same direction for a block before you looked over at each other and shared a smile. You remember his shirts and you remember the way he used to call you at midnight before you were living together, and you'd both just lay in silence with your phones to your ears until one of you fell asleep. You let these memories dance through your mind, hoping this time will be the time that you can be solemn and respectful and tender, and then you look up at him with his finger in his nose and his hand on his balls and you just burst out laughing and run back down the hill.
Happy True Lava Always Day!
