Ticket to Hell

My newest niece (Katherine Grace) was christened/baptized this morning...it was hell. Let us go back in time, gentle readers, to last night. My family clan was gathered (as in celtic clan not The Klan), the usual drill with the brothers-in-alcohol only this time the damage was done with them drinking beer and me delving into the monster stash of sparkling wines in the fridge. T (my twin sister's husband) announced that they didn't drink sparkling wine and had received many bottles as gifts...so I decided to help them reduce their overstocked supply by two bottles by the end of the evening. I am not a lush, I do not consume such quantities unless I'm around people that I'm comfortable with. I'm a happy, trusting drunk so I must be very careful of the company I keep when quaffing alcoholic bevvies. Enough said 'bout that subject for the there is a tale to tell.

This morning I was awakened by two little people (not leprechauns), my nephew and niece were standing next to my bed in the basement and their breathing roused me. It's not that their kid breath was loud, it's the fact that my head was the size of North Dakota and a mouse fart would've induced great pain in me. They said, "Good morning Aunt Bea. Pee Paw (grandpa) is going to take us to McDonalds, we're going to get pancakes and eggs. Daddy (brother-in-alcohol-J-married to my baby sister K) told us to come down here to see what you want?"
They giggle.
I grinned painfully and murmured, "Anything greasy please."
The decibals of their breathing increased, "Pee Paw said he would take us just the way we are."
I wonder what they meant by that and pried my eyes open. Two little faces were peering at me, they were wearing Underoos; Sleeping Beauty for my niece and my nephew sported Superman.
My wine soaked voice croaked, "I'm sure Ronald McDonald wouldn't mind your attire but I think Pee Paw had something different in mind."
Pain reverberated in my brain as they scampered upstairs calling, "Anything greaaasssyyyy Dadddy"
I fell back asleep.

An hour later, I stumbled upstairs. A baby dragon used my mouth as a pottie and I must locate my overnight bag to wash the taste from my mouth. Pee Paw (my father) was seated at the table dressed in a black suit bearing a remarkable resemblence to Marlon Brando in The Godfather. Both sisters were wrangling the wee folk upstairs to get them dressed. Brother-in-alcohol J offered me a sausage biscuit and a large glass of tomato juice. We both looked like Clint Eastwood, this was not a good sign, he grumbled that T was not out of bed yet. (It was 9:30 am) We had to be at the church by 10:30.
I scarfed my grub and downed the juice knowing that I had to put aside my misery to get my lush ass in gear. The shower was torture but I managed to get dressed and ready.

We get to the church, I rode with J and K. On the way there, J was ripping SBDs (silent but deadly) farts forcing all of our eyes to water. He couldn't help it, they'd been drinking Honey Browns and they always make you gassy. By the time we exited the vehicle I wanted to die. I felt like the bottom of a bird cage and had been forced to inhale 20 minutes of truly foul air.

My sister B and her husband T attend an interesting catholic church. It's not the normal rigid catholic structure. The mass is said in the round, there is no altar at the front, no baptismal font in the side knave, no pews...just metal folding chairs set up in concentric rings around a table in the center of this huge circular room. The Guggenheim it ain't but hey everybody's got a right to express their faith. Before we entered the church this dude came up and asked that three of our party present the gifts..my sister K volunteered me, J and herself. I wanted to club her, but this was not the right time. J turned to me, I felt his pain and said nothing.

Our merry little band entered the church, which was packed, nothing like a massive hangover and a killer entrance. We're all dressed to the nines while the other attendees were more casually clad. Strains of The Sopranos theme played in my head as we sauntered down the aisle, oh yeah, this was going to be fun. I wanted to run screaming from the building but couldn't quite muster the courage. We were led to the inner-most circle, right in front of the "altar" and the entire congregation. I was overwhelmed by a desire to crawl underneath the altar skirt and fall asleep but doubted my family would appreciate the action, so I tamped it down and found a seat next to brother-in-alcohol J.

The priest entered, he looked like Joe Montana, J whispered to me, "Wow, he's hot. If he wasn't a priest I'd do him. He looks like he works out a lot." (LD keep you comments to yourself OK. I'm truly hung and beg for your mercy.)
I started laughing, so hard in fact that I began to snort. Members of the congregation stared at me and I tried to hide discreetly behind the hymnal. My sister K cast a questioning glance at me and punched J in the shoulder.

As Father Joe walked up the aisle I heard Elvis in my head...."a little less conversation..a little more action please...all this aggrivation ain't satisfactionin' me...a little more bite...a little less bark...a little less fight...a little more spark...close your mouth and open up your heart...satisfy me baby..." at this point I realized I was in hell. Father Joe got to the altar and Elvis crescendoed with, "come on...come on...come on!!!" I had been forced to sit through a mass with a studly priest and Elvis won't quit singing in my head...I wanted to stick a fork in my eye.

My brain wouldn't stop thumping and Father Joe kept staring at me. My pained expression appeared to be causing him some concern. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash, my sister K had just taken a pic of me. I turned and asked her what she was doing. She whispered, "I needed to preserve the moment. You look miserable."
Nothing says lovin' like a family that rejoices in your misery.

I made it half way through the mass without incident, I'm proud of my self control. K pinched me and whispered that I was to follow her. I realized it was time to do the offering thing. In most Catholic masses the priest has the Eucharist/bread and goblet of wine in a niche near the altar...no such luck in this church...I got out in the hall and realized that I was going to have to bring in the bread cubes and hand them Father Montana. J grabbed the pitcher of grape juice, K lifted a basket filled with boxes of Cheereos (I have no idea what they're supposed to symbolize) and I was stuck with the bowl of bread. J giggled, "He's hot isn't he?"
"Bastard" I muttered and picked up the bowl.
We strolled up the aisle and J handed Father Joe the pitcher. K placed the basket of Cheereos in front of the altar. Father Joe turned to me, took the bread and leaned down, "I couldn't help noticing that you don't look well. Is everything all right?"
Humiliation crept through me, I heard J stifle a laugh.
"I'm a bit hung Father. It's not your service." was all I could manage and I quickly hustled back to my seat. I couldn't believe I'd just told a priest, a hunky priest, that I was hung over. Through the remainder of the service/baptism my greatest wish was for the earth to open up and swallow me.

Thankfully Katherine Grace was baptized without a hitch. We exited the church, got into the vehicles and endured another fart infested 20 min ride back to my sister's house.

Thank God I'm home now! LOL