So there I was last night, sitting at my laptop having a lovely dance on Catalina Island with this beautiful, blond CD (in Second Life, sadly) when my doorbell rang. I opened the door and there stood my ex-priest. He asked if he could come in and, of course, ever the lady, I invited him in.
He said he was concerned over my sudden departure from the church. I had been such an active participant, an integral part of the community. He wondered what prompted my decision. I told him that the subject of his last few homilies had been personally offensive and I saw no reason to allow myself to be offended.
“Why? What offended you?” “Your diatribe about men in dresses.” (Yes dear readers, I actually used ‘diatribe’. I talk like that.) “But I was talking about those confused about their god-given gender.” “I understand, Father. I’m not confused. I KNOW I’m a woman.” Dead silence. Then you could see realization cross his face. Delicious!
Then the real reason comes out. “G_____ died last night. We’re having a funeral on Friday. Could you come back long enough to run that through?” (I am… was… the head of the bereavement committee)
That felt goooooooood. (Not about G_____, of course. He was a nice guy. But there is a whole group of ladies involved in the committee. They’ll be fine.)