Father Smith and the pre-Xmas party

I run into

Father Smith at the grocery

store.

his cart

is full of red wine

and crackers,

blocks of cheese

and fruit spreads

from

the gourmet counter.

i say hello,

he shakes his head

and rolls his eyes at me.

party?

i ask.

yes, he says. and you're

not invited.

so don't even think about it.

but, but.

don't give me your buts

he says.

i haven't seen you in church

since 

you got divorced.

are you going to a different

church now?

are you filling their baskets

with money?

i tell him no.

okay, okay. i confess, i've

been praying

at home a lot lately.

i'm recovering from

a twisted knee.

how about i come this Sunday,

to high mass,

the really really long one

with two collections.

the incense, the bells, etc.

along with a few extra numbers

from the choir.

i'll be there,

cross my heart.

i'll even kneel when i'm supposed

to instead of just

sitting there.

then can i come to your

party?

i'll bring a Honey Baked ham

and my mother's recipe

for sweet potatoes

with seared marshmallows on top.

okay.

okay, he mumbles.

you're forgiven, sort of.

oh, by the way, i ask him.

she's not going to be

there, is she?

who?

Cruella.

no.

good. see you at 7ish.