As I was walking home from mass last Sunday I was somewhat behind the main posse as the boys had cycled ahead with their father and my sister and herself were walking ahead together. This man I knew vaguely from mass came up to me and introduced himself. I felt like a little antelope cut off from the herd. My instincts were not at fault.
“We’re having a summer party in the church,” he said. “Mmm,” I said non-committally. “Would you like to organise entertainment for the children?” he asked. Oh no, I would not. “I’ll be doing the barbecue,” he said. Of course, I’m on the wretched organising committee, of course I am. He got me in a weak moment as I had just emerged from mass with Fr. Boston who made different bits of the church shout out different things. Those in the transept had to shout “Be Ready” and my sister who lived in Chicago for years alarmed many of the congregation by shouting out with enthusiasm rather than the usual apathy which greets Fr. Boston’s efforts.
I suppose this will make me a better person.
*As Dorothy Parker would say; though not in this context.