Why I Couldn't Be A Minister's Wife, and other Sunday musings...
Why I Couldn’t Be A Minister’s Wife and Other First Sunday Revelations
Let me be clear that while my religious and spiritual beliefs have changed drastically over the course of my adult life, I was raised Southern Baptist by my grandparents. Six days a week inside Queen City Baptist Church in South Plainfield, New Jersey were enough to leave me indelibly marked with the word of God as spoken to his people through Jesus Christ the Savior. I have been baptized, therefore saved and qualified to partake of monthly communion ritual. I have not participated in the eating of the bread and drinking of wine in years, because I do not consider myself a Christian by definitions as stated by the moderating pastor. I am okay with this. My mother, well…she’s trying to understand.
Anyway…I went to church with my mother and niece this morning. For starters, I woke up entirely too early for my body to understand that while it was Sunday morning, I was not going to a delightfully fancy brunch at one of my favorite downtown eateries where I would drink away the wretched beer hangover from the night before and drown my responsibilities in hollandaise. It sucks to brush your teeth with a hangover. In fact, it is the most mandatory evil of the morning. Scrubbing the rancid film of the prior night from your mouth without vomiting is a skill that I have not mastered. So, umm…”Yes Mommy, I’m up. Yes, I’ll be there at 9:30.” I didn’t intend to make it there in time when I hung up, but the professional drinker in me suggested that I could hit the snooze button for at least another fifteen minutes before facing a responsible wardrobe decision and a full face of makeup. I was a little wrong. The brushing of my teeth was an exercise in repetition: brush, puke, brush, puke. I managed to close with a win for Team Colgate and move into the harrowing task of applying a minimal daytime look while effectively concealing dark circles and glassy eyes. I grabbed a Slurpee on the way to pick up Mommy and my niece. I considered if there was time for a Bloody Mary and decided that the iced sugar mainlined into my frontal lobe would be sufficient. It helped. Until it didn’t.
Neither myself nor my hangover were prepared for the morning’s devotional service. While I love the ritual and spirit of church, I needed a mute button for my first fifteen minutes inside the sanctuary. I couldn’t manage to focus on what was actually happening during most of the service. It was like I had alcohol induced ADHD or something. The heat, sounds and smells were sending me into sensory overload and I began to check out. I would like to pause here to say that improper thoughts in church are awkward. The fact that you are having them is awkward because well, you’re not supposed to lust after folks in church…right? But even more awkward because of how much I enjoyed the sheer impropriety of the whole damn thing! It was bad. Like, I had to pick a spot on the pew in front of me and stare at it long enough to forget how much of a heathen I was being at that particular time. *Ahem*
My mother has it in her mind that she is going to find my husband for me. This is dangerous for obvious reasons but even more so when I am an unassuming bystander during her hunt. Today, one of her favorite prospective son-in-laws was present in the congregation and as soon as we got in the car…the discussion of our wedding and what our children would look like began. I told you, shit is dangerous with Ma Dukes. Now, while I think that the brother is beautiful…It just wouldn’t work. I have compiled a list of reasons why this is a true statement.
I had a hangover in church today.
I only considered taking communion if there was real wine in the tumblers instead of grape juice.
I curse like a sailor.
I am too magic.
I would always rather have sex or brunch on Sunday mornings (or both, in no particular order).
Early service is out of the question.
Premarital sex is requisite.
I drank a six pack at the pool immediately following services.
Let me be clear that while my religious and spiritual beliefs have changed drastically over the course of my adult life, I was raised Southern Baptist by my grandparents. Six days a week inside Queen City Baptist Church in South Plainfield, New Jersey were enough to leave me indelibly marked with the word of God as spoken to his people through Jesus Christ the Savior. I have been baptized, therefore saved and qualified to partake of monthly communion ritual. I have not participated in the eating of the bread and drinking of wine in years, because I do not consider myself a Christian by definitions as stated by the moderating pastor. I am okay with this. My mother, well…she’s trying to understand.
Anyway…I went to church with my mother and niece this morning. For starters, I woke up entirely too early for my body to understand that while it was Sunday morning, I was not going to a delightfully fancy brunch at one of my favorite downtown eateries where I would drink away the wretched beer hangover from the night before and drown my responsibilities in hollandaise. It sucks to brush your teeth with a hangover. In fact, it is the most mandatory evil of the morning. Scrubbing the rancid film of the prior night from your mouth without vomiting is a skill that I have not mastered. So, umm…”Yes Mommy, I’m up. Yes, I’ll be there at 9:30.” I didn’t intend to make it there in time when I hung up, but the professional drinker in me suggested that I could hit the snooze button for at least another fifteen minutes before facing a responsible wardrobe decision and a full face of makeup. I was a little wrong. The brushing of my teeth was an exercise in repetition: brush, puke, brush, puke. I managed to close with a win for Team Colgate and move into the harrowing task of applying a minimal daytime look while effectively concealing dark circles and glassy eyes. I grabbed a Slurpee on the way to pick up Mommy and my niece. I considered if there was time for a Bloody Mary and decided that the iced sugar mainlined into my frontal lobe would be sufficient. It helped. Until it didn’t.
Neither myself nor my hangover were prepared for the morning’s devotional service. While I love the ritual and spirit of church, I needed a mute button for my first fifteen minutes inside the sanctuary. I couldn’t manage to focus on what was actually happening during most of the service. It was like I had alcohol induced ADHD or something. The heat, sounds and smells were sending me into sensory overload and I began to check out. I would like to pause here to say that improper thoughts in church are awkward. The fact that you are having them is awkward because well, you’re not supposed to lust after folks in church…right? But even more awkward because of how much I enjoyed the sheer impropriety of the whole damn thing! It was bad. Like, I had to pick a spot on the pew in front of me and stare at it long enough to forget how much of a heathen I was being at that particular time. *Ahem*
My mother has it in her mind that she is going to find my husband for me. This is dangerous for obvious reasons but even more so when I am an unassuming bystander during her hunt. Today, one of her favorite prospective son-in-laws was present in the congregation and as soon as we got in the car…the discussion of our wedding and what our children would look like began. I told you, shit is dangerous with Ma Dukes. Now, while I think that the brother is beautiful…It just wouldn’t work. I have compiled a list of reasons why this is a true statement.
I had a hangover in church today.
I only considered taking communion if there was real wine in the tumblers instead of grape juice.
I curse like a sailor.
I am too magic.
I would always rather have sex or brunch on Sunday mornings (or both, in no particular order).
Early service is out of the question.
Premarital sex is requisite.
I drank a six pack at the pool immediately following services.
Thanks for sharing, girl I can completely relate!
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