Momnesia

Christmas with the Krankies

My husband's parents go to First Baptist Church. It’s not my favorite place to be. First of all, any church where the deacons get into fistfights is not my kind of place. Second of all, I detect a higher-than-average portion of people who attend for the publicity benefits, it being the largest church in Augusta. They can be seen being pious by the largest number of people at one time.

His parents want us to go to church with them on Christmas Eve. I pretend to slit my throat. For a moment, I almost give in to the hormone monster and pitch what I call a “dog-at-the-wedding” sized fit (after the fit my mother had when we told her we wanted Scrabble at the wedding). It takes me what feels like an eternity to get my inner child under control and refrain from lying down in the middle of the kitchen floor, drumming my heels and screaming.

Scott: I don’t want to go.
Me: I don’t either. I don’t see how we can get out of it.
By this morning, he has a plan.
Scott: We’ll tell them we can’t go because we’re going to Midnight Mass.
I look at him, amused, but clearly he is a moron.
Me: You’re not Catholic.
Scott: Yes, I am.
Me: No, you’re not! Besides, (I launch into an imitation of his mother’s very obviously cultivated coastal-high-plantation Southern accent) “Why can’t you go to church with us, and then go to mass later?” (Sounds like this: “Whhhi cahn’t yoo goe tuh chuhrch whheeith uhs, and theein goe tuh mahyass latuh?”)
Scott: You can’t go to church twice in one day.
Me: It’s Christmas! You can go as many times as you want! Honey, I haven’t been to church in so long that if I entered the door I’d probably burst into flames. God saves up smites for people like me.
Scott: You were in church two weeks ago!
We went to a wedding.
Me: I just don’t see how we can get out of it.
Scott: Well, you’re going to come down with something.
Me: We have to see them tonight!
Scott: You’ll get better after church.
Me: You are not going to blame this on me.
Scott: But I. Don’t. Want. To. Go.
Me: So tell them that.
Scott (grinning): Okay!

Crap. We’ll have to go twice next year.