Church My Favorite Place
There is a tiny itsy bitsy teensy weensy bit of vomit in her hair.
She is a prim lady, prideful, and can be slightly mean about stuff.
This is church, and I do not want to embarrass her,
For then she might throw one of her fits and embarrass the whole pew.
Do I tell her? Do I dare? I am a mere child. What would people think?
How would I say it?
Excuse me, Miss Peaworthy, but you have puke in your hair?
Did someone regurgitate on you?
I am five.
I don’t even know that word yet.
I stare at her hair throughout service.
Laughing a little bit.
My mother tries to shush me with the look.
It does not work. She puts her hand over my giggling mouth.
Christians being fed to lions is apparently not funny.
The minister stares at me. I wink. He loses his place.
Church. My favorite place.
No telling what is coming around the corner.
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