I go to church for two reasons:
1. My mother instilled in me the proper Catholic-prescribed level of crap-your-pants-fear during my childhood, reminding me each day that Jesus was watching my every move, which made going to the bathroom just a tad bit awkward
2. Now I can finally do the same to my own offspring, which makes 32 years of holding my pee until I almost pass out totally worth it.
Going to church
every most Sundays is part of our family routine. We wake up at 6:30 a.m., eat breakfast, watch t.v., mope around for a few hours, then, like clockwork, we scramble to get dressed and make it to 10:00 o’clock mass.
We usually sit in the very back, the nosebleed seats, if you will. I prefer it back there, where rows upon rows of people aren’t staring at my back cleavage and watching me adjust my skirt everytime I stand up or sit down (if you know anything about Catholics it’s that we prefer our commandments with a side of calisthenics, so there’s a whole lot of up and down and swing your partner round and round going on during mass).
Plus, I get to be all judgmental about the parents who can’t control their kids and make stern faces at the back of their heads, furrowed eyebrows and all.
When monchichi decided that church is a great place to practice shaving seconds off of his best f.p.m
(flaps per minute) time and beat his current record,
that sqwuaking like a bird with an amphetamine addiction is perfectly acceptable during the homily given by the priest.
Man. Those judgemental looks aren’t nearly as much fun when you’re on the receiving end.
We’ve been working really hard to keep our wonderful, lovingly obnoxious son from interrupting the three hundred or so members of our congregation from praying for forgivness for being such self-righteous jackasses and I thought our efforts were paying off.
Boy was I right!
Why just last weekend, upon our entrance through the church doors, an usher almost tripped trying to get to us before we could take our usual seats.
Instead, she whisked us away to a back room I didn’t even know existed, with, get this, leather couches and a private bathroom.
She smiled sweetly
pointed to the speakers on the ceiling,
We must have really made an impression on the priest.