I promise the Catholic posts will stop soon once I leave Ireland. My sister has finally gone through the last round of becoming the holiest she can possibly get. There’s no way she’s becoming a saint so it’s all downhill from here.
The day was going fine until my family got into a tug-of-war battle over the pew we were assigned to with one other family. We were each given one half of a pew reserved for as many members of your family that you could fit.
We took this as a challenge.
The four of us spread out to save spots for the seven of us. It became tense when the family we were up against arrived early like little bitches (really they were on time but fuck them).
At first, I was feeling confident. I was wearing a new dress that was both tight and made me look like a mermaid. Also, I was wearing a fresh pair of flesh-colored tights my Nana described as the “palest you can get”.
I was the last person on my family’s side so I was shoulder to shoulder with the mother of the opposing family. A mama bear. A woman with long fake nails and fake tanner that was rubbing off on my pale tights. A fighter.
Over the course of a few minutes, she managed to slowly scoot her butt down the pew effectively using me as a domino for my family’s demise. Without making eye contact she repeatedly muttered under her breath, “We each get half the pew” as if she was confrontational but not good with eye contact.
My Nana pushed back to no avail. I was too much of a pussy. I just wanted everyone to get along in the house of God, partially because I like being better than Catholics. It’s good for the soul.
During the mass when everyone turns to their neighbor and says, “Peace be with you” with a handshake I decided to extend an olive branch. Terrible idea. I broke rank. My family felt betrayed and I lost my seat.
With just one buttcheek on the pew, I looked at the wooden Jesus on the cross and thought “Now I know what you went through”. Sacrifice.
Finally, it was time to go up with Abigail to act as her sponsor and escort her to the priest to be blessed or something. Don’t ask me what a sponsor is or does because I have no idea. I was just told to put one hand on her shoulder.
You’d think this simple instruction would be easy to follow. I immediately began to panic on which hand and what shoulder. In line, I started massaging her shoulders just to be safe. I felt like I was getting her ready for a boxing match.
After the beautiful ceremony, the Catholic school teachers were thanked with gifts from the students. The male teachers received an expensive bottle of wine and the female teachers got flowers. Freaking flowers.
The girls dispatched to deliver the bouquets had difficulty finding the female teachers in the audience. I can guarantee you they wouldn’t have had this problem if it was wine. They’d be tracking the kids down to grab that prize.
The sponsors got a measly prayer for our well being. I call bullshit.
I want wine. And new tights.