I hadn’t been to church since I was a young child. I wasn’t thrilled when my colleague Jillian invited me to go but I figured well…why not. It should be interesting. I knew I was starting off on shaky feet when I looked in my closet that Sunday morning. Panning my eyes to the left I saw why my shelves and hangers were full of crickets and cobwebs instead of outfits. The hamper was overflowing. Sigh. I pulled a faded dress from a dusty shelf. The last time it fit me well was about thirty pounds ago in 2001. The wrap dress barely folded around my body more than once to make room for my love handles. The lack of slack sent the v neck plunging. The cherry on this ridiculously dressed sundae was the thong I slipped on under my dress. The last time foolish twenty-something Anna put consistent thong discomfort in heavy rotation, Cisqo had a hit song. Usually my thongs cushion the bottom of my under-plunders drawer and hold up the real underwear made of tight knits, cotton, and enough fabric to cover my ass. The thongs never see the light of day unless…I skipped a couple of laundry days.
My outfit was right at home with acid washed jeans, and tank tops amongst the Baptist churchgoers. Ok, so far so good. I didn’t sit down. First I had to confirm that members of the congregation didn’t violate my no Holy Ghost rule. I think the Holy Ghost is well…weird and scary. There were lots of big women stomping around to the music, wearing paper fans to shreds, about to lose their bird caged crowns with each jerk. One churchgoer bought his own tambourine. Not so bad. Ok, time to find Jillian and have a seat.
Jillian sat through a finger snapping selection from the choir and introduction to the preacher before she left to teach Sunday school. As soon as she left the preachers message entitled “What’s sex got to do with it” (or something like that) shifted to a reality show reference. My ears perked up and I sat up nice and tall in the wooden pew.
“God doesn’t hate sex. Why should we act like we do? No wonder why people don’t go to church. If I didn’t get paid to be here I wouldn’t go to church either. We have got to stop acting so high and mighty and remember that only god can judge us. Like Sweet Brown said ‘Aint nobody got time for dat.’ Those of us that are so concerned with the sex lives of others are just mad cause nobody want to go to bed with them. God made it, so it’s not taboo. Turn to your neighbor and say penis. Turn to your neighbor and say vagina…”
I didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or clutch my imaginary pearls. I left before the service was over.