Germs, Mass and Freak Flags

This morning we awoke bright and early to attend Palm Sunday mass. I tried to get my janky camera to take our picture with a timer, and this is what I got on try #1. Oh, that Trinity is one funny man.

Here we are centered, with a strategically placed orb right above my little angel's head. Note that primo kitty butt in the background. She's never far from the action.

This is our beautiful church, which I find to be such a serene place.

During each mass there is an offering of a sign of peace. Everyone turns to those around and shakes hands and says "Peace be with you." As a child I loved this part and always said "Pleased to meet you."

Trinity and I turned to one another hugged and then turned to the lady behind us.

I extended my hand.

Halt!

Her hand went up in a STOP position as though she was stopping traffic. She cooly said, "I don't wish to share germs with you."

WHAT? I REPEAT, WHAT?

I must admit that this left me a bit miffed. I'm not Typhoid Mary. I want to shake your hand, lady, not lick your face. Geez.

Now here's the lesson part. I thought that she was a total weirdo, and then I pondered her predicament. We all have a "thing." Her thing is germ phobia, mine is tags and pantyhose. What would I do if it was customary in the Catholic church to turn to a neighbor and rub each other with tags and pantyhose? I would die. I would. I think it might even keep me from attending mass. I wouldn't want to offend people by saying, "I don't wish to be rubbed with your paper tags and nylon torture devices, thank you." I might avoid the situation altogether. I began to see that poor lady in a whole new light. She is forced to fly her freak flag every week, and I can keep mine hidden for the most part. Kudos to you, lady, for being brave enough to reject my germy hands and those of others every week.

My point? You can learn all kinds of lessons when you're not thinking about it. Moving on...

here is the palm frond point that somehow found its way into my right nostril 5 minutes into church due to the toddler, mmmmm I mean, husband sitting next to me. We both agreed that we had mastered the art of palm frond prodding at the ripe age of about 6. We had dueling frond/nostril jousting as he drove. Very safe. Also, I am physically incapable of removing hair from my knees, despite my shaving strokes that include vertical, horizontal, diagonal and catywampus. Gross.

We finished with brunch at Mesh, a new spot in town. I toasted my newfound tolerance with a mimosa!