The Holy Six-Pack

I am not a blasphemous person.

I am a preacher's daughter. My mother, although well versed in how to destroy a haughty, holier-than-thou evangelist using the Holy Bible as a Two-Edged Sword, taught me to to have reverence and respect for my God.

I was raised nondenominational charismatic (which has since become a denomination. Crazy huh?). D is Catholic. His ex, the Beauty Queen converted to Catholicism, his mom and dad and brother are Catholic - hell, his whole childhood town in Kansas is Catholic. I defer out of sheer outnumberedness. And also because I don't really care what denomination a congregation is. My God is still there.

We usually go to Mass with his children on the Sundays that I have to take my children to their father's house. I drive like a bat out of hell to make it on time, fully dressed and ready to attend Mass.

Well, at least my outer clothes are appropriate for Mass...my underclothes are anticipating a whole different scenario. But I digress.

Invariably, it has been a whole week to ten days since I have last had any physical contact by the time I get there, so I am a bit starved. Okay - a lot starved! Sometimes I am afraid people can hear my body beg them to touch me. And at Mass, this is inappropriate behavior. Also, it is inappropriate thinking. Not that it is appropriate behavior or thinking at the supermarket, either, but you know what I mean.

During the communion that I am not allowed to partake in (because I am not Catholic), I found my mind wandering and my eyes roving through the congregation. What a wonderful cross-section of humanity a church is!
Trying to keep my thoughts pure and my body from shouting, I focused on family structures and the recognizable dynamics of proper two parent/wonderful children units.

I swear I wasn't looking at the Tall Smoldering Dark and Handsome with the bicep tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. I promise that I wasn't gazing back into BlueEyed, CleanCut, All American's steady gaze. I was at Mass with my boyfriend and his children for gawds sake! LITERALLY!

Directing my point of view back to the pulpit and pageantry was a difficult and necessary task - and also where I decided that I could never, ever enter a confession booth, because the penalty for my next thought would surely be too high.

As I glanced up at the Statue of Christ on His Cross, I heard myself muse,"Huh. Wow. Those are some great abs. I didn't even know He worked out..."

Please don't be angry with me, friends - blasphemy and disrespect was not my intent.

As punishment, God did not allow me to have any alone time with D whatsoever for the entire night, and here I am on Monday. Alone. Skin starving. Body shouting. And doing penance as dutifully as I can.