Last week, I was asked by a friend to go to mass with her on Ash Wednesday. I’m not sure if she felt like I was in need of some holy intervention or she was just being friendly but, after much hesitation I figured, ‘why the fuck not?’ What’s the worst that could happen? The communion will give me diarrhea and I’ll have to step over everyone while they’re kneeling in the pew? I’ll trip and my boobs will accidentally fall out of my shirt in front of the poor virgin priest and his ragtag band of alter boys? I could survive those, right? No problem.
Well… I made it about twenty minutes in before I was convinced I was dying.
Me: Do you think it’s hot in here? I’ve got some swamp ass brewing.
Friend: No… I’m actually kind of chilly. Are you okay?
Me: Well… this is it. I’m dying. I’ve crossed into God’s house, and he’s striking me down and it’s only a matter of time until I burst into flames. This was bound to happen. I’m a terrible person. Yesterday I stole an extra cracker from the sweet old lady handing out samples at Publix. It wasn’t even good but I couldn’t help myself. Who does shit like that? WHO?
Random Guy Next To Me: Everyone. Everyone does that.
Me: Oh. Really? That makes me feel better. Do you also try to secretly grope your spouse in public when you think no one is watching? God could be pissed at me for that. I’m pretty handsy. Do you do that, too? It would make me feel a lot more relieved if you did. You seem like a regular here and God hasn’t smited you yet.
Guy: Uh… can you stop talking to me? You’re making me uncomfortable.
I don’t think I’m welcome there anymore.
Do churches give you anxiety? I grew up in a religious family and I’m pretty familiar with them. Yet… they still scare the shit out of me. What the hell?
Everyone stay safe out there. There’s some bad weather brewing.