Dear Church Lady,
We see how artfully arranged your children are in their matching outfits and only assume the flowers on your dining table are just as well arranged. You sing a lovely soprano “How Great Thou Art”, while checking Sunday dinner off in your head. Piously, you bow your head and quiet the active feet beside you. No one knows yesterday you were covered in grime from fishing with the kids. No one can see the garden dirt underneath your manicured, jeweled fingers.
What else we can see, however, is startling. The prerequisite to every hymn, to every passing of the peace, to every time you stand up in the Lord’s house–the picking of your granny panties and dress out of your blessed hiney. Church Lady, I understand these things happen. However in order for it to become noticeable to those behind you, the excessiveness to which you undertake your retrieval is olympic. Can you tone down this sport? Maybe invest in fitting goods, or tape?
Two pews back