There may well be a circle of Hell reserved for devout Catholics who deliberately tick off the hard-working priests… which would mean, then, that I can't assume I'll be fitted for halo and harp, once I "have shuffled off this mortal coil". Pitchfork, anyone?
After Mass today, the Knights of Columbus (I’m Third Degree, but not currently active) hosted a coffee-and-donuts fellowship/social in the basement of the former Catholic school next door (since relocated). As a Eucharistic minister, I helped with some tidying-up and putting-away before heading downstairs to find Mother seated with Father Paul (one of our four priests) and a couple parishioners.
Father and I greeted each other; Mother had her own donuts and coffee (I'd skipped on both; I minimize the sugar intake, and just don't like coffee). She leaned forward and confided to Father about me, "He doesn't believe in donuts."
Knowing Father Paul's fondness for wordplay, I explained to him, "I prefer holey-er things on Sundays, Father." Mother nearly choked.
"That was rather Swiss-cheesy of you," Father responded, a bit lamely.
"I sorry," I answered contritely, "I should have let that comment ferment longer."
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