I wanted to blog about last Monday’s car accident. I was hecked by someone with bad vibes. Maw doesn’t like her either. Her mouth is foul in describing how men are attracted to slutty women. Long ago, she flicked off the Poitoid at our luncheon table after the burial of Rose, a parishioner.
What happened was that, out of pity and creepiness not the greet someone sitting next to me in the fourth pew, I touched the greasy/sticky left forearm of the 80-year old Myrnagutan, held/shook her left hand with her vice grip hurting my right hand, and rubbed her left thumb nail of brightly painted red nail polish.
And this morning, we saw her henpeck husband (who ALWAYS complains about her being an old bag), hauling a plastic bag of goodies for our main pastor, who was mingling outdoors, with Poitoid, who was already standing there and probably waiting for a free meal. We sensed that particular “gesture of charity” is nothing short of “playing politics”.
Creepy place.
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