We were in the choir loft today, and some guy walks in (in the middle of mass, mind you) with a two year old who's crying.
(Now, I can see where you MIGHT think it was a cry room, but not so much, as you climb up the winding spiral staircase and hear the singing getting louder and louder. I think Betty was having a fit.)
Luckily we had a coloring book and crayons stashed up there, because some of the members bring their kids/grandkids along now & then. (My son does hilarious freehand drawings of the choir and you can actually tell who he's trying to depict in some of the sketches) So my daughter gave the crayons to this guy, (who we all thought someone else in the choir knew, and it turns out NO ONE KNEW HIM.)
We were good until the guy came up to bring us communion and the kid looked up and started saying "I want a chewie too!!"
Oy vey.
I was going to write him up as a nominee for the bad parenting award I discussed in my very first blog entry-- until my husband, who knows EVERYONE in this inbred little whitey-white town, pointed out to me that his wife died last year and he has 3 small children. (Oh, great, so now I'm a real jerk. )
Stay tuned for future posts on Who Looked Great and Who Looked Like Crap at the Golden Globes. I live for this stuff. Beautiful stars in gowns I might be able to fit my left leg into, wearing diamonds worth more than my car. I'm all over it. Bonus! I don't have to work tomorrow because it's MLK's day.
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