Me vs. The Parish Council

So at the church on Sunday, a special blessing had been planned to finalize the union of my sister and her husband. Normally this would be the most exciting morning of the week but sadly, my stomach had quit life on me that morning because despite my heartburn mayday episode, I had kept eating all week like nothing happened. My doctor had suggested that I bring Immodium AD with me and I’m SO glad I listened for once b/c it saved me from a virtual disaster that day.
When we got to church it was packed like the Middle Passage up in there, with these tired ceiling fans that barely moved like they had been fanning the same people for 200 years. My stomach chose the minute I sat down to remind me that it was upset. I asked where the bathroom was and one of the aunts curtly informed me “Oh eet ees fah. Yoo do not wan too go.”
Great. So now I’m sitting in this sauna, praying to Jesus, Mary and Moses that my stomach does not start its own soca party right there in the pew. My only consolation was that Catholic mass is only an hour long. Or so I thought.
Around the world, mass is almost identical in format with slight variations based on location and culture. One variation is the music. The music was so lively at this church! African drumming and joyful praise from men and women wearing colorful blue uniforms uplifted my spirit with each song. Three part harmonies gave new life to normally monotone, boring hymns, making each musical selection a much welcomed interlude. But there were several interludes. And each time they started up the drums and sang the extended African remix of the hymns, I realized it was going to be a long service.
After an hour and a half of melting through the mass, the priest finally finished and said we were going to have a few words from the new parish council president. At which point 20 people came up to the altar to be blessed. I looked around thought about putting up the “church finger” to excuse myself, but I hadn’t read up on all of the things that were offensive and just knew paparazzi would capture the moment, and publish it in the local paper with the title “American Girl Gives Priest The Finger at New Years Service” So I sat in agony, with the backup plan that I would act like I caught the holy ghost and run out of church.
The new parish council president then proceeded to give a 10 minute speech about how the last year’s council had been a group of lazy good-for-nothing low down evil heathens, conspiring to bring down the church, and promised to save us from this tragedy like Jesus himself. The old parish council was now giving the new President the side-eye from the pews while the new parish council was about to fall asleep on the altar as their president rambled on, throwing everybody under the bus.
So at this point its a good 80 degrees in the church, my malaria pills, Immodium and leftover alcohol in my stomach from nightly drinking are leading an uprising in my stomach and if the parish council did not wrap this thing up I was ready to pull out the Apollo broom and end the whole thing myself. The last 15 minutes were a blur but eventually President I Am Malcom X finished his speech, my sister and her husband were given a special blessing by the priest, the paparazzi followed our entire family out of the church like it was the Oscars and I was able to go outside and get some fresh air. If you happen to seen any pictures floating around from church and I have the “give us free” look on my face, now you know why.