It’s Sunday. Quite a few things have gone wrong today, but it’s still a good day. It’s all about perspective. Not the holy kind of perspective you might get on a Sunday — the kind of “eh, not that big of a deal” perspective you might get the day after you accidentally fling a pair of panties at a bank teller. The missteps of today seem much smaller by comparison. (yes, actually you CAN accidentally fling a pair of panties at a bank teller. It SEEMS ridiculous and impossible and mortifying, but that particular combination of adjectives seems to be my specialty. I have no idea what God can possibly do with that specialty. Today I’m thinking, perhaps not much.)

Moving on. I know I’ll have to come back to that, but I can’t bring myself to explain it just yet. Except to say again, “TOTAL ACCIDENT, and yes of course I’m horrified.”

If ever you happen to see me in some top or dress that zips up the side, it can be safely assumed that at some point prior to your seeing me – I was stuck, flailing and helpless in the bathroom, trying to wiggle into this particular, disorienting, side-zipping thing. As was the case today. I always think if it’s cute enough, or on sale enough, that it’ll be fine, and worth it, and one of these days I’ll just figure it out. Right. But I haven’t. Today I had a side-zipping top on and a miniskirt, both Ann Taylor by way of eBay and combined less than $10. (LOVE that. Except the stupid side zipper which almost made me late to church.)

Once zipped in and off to church, everything was okay. All went well. I had made sure there was nothing in my purse that should not be there, in the event of random, unforeseen flinging action. (Actually there WAS the same pair of panties, so I stuffed them in the center console in the car before going in. Brilliant.)

Mike surprised me by showing up, and having kids with him. This was really especially good not just because I had someone warm to snuggle into and I’m always cold, but because of the whole minor mess I’ve gotten myself into with someone we’ll just call Anthony.

A few months ago I did NOT miss the point of the Sunday message and really felt quite certain I was supposed to start taking Anthony home from church. He’s an older guy, almost blind, and he was on crutches. (I remember crutches. I hate them.) He lives nearby. So after church that day I drove after him and cornered him in a parking lot, introduced myself, took his crutches, and made him get in so I could drive him home. I was pushy.

Any time since then that I’m there and he’s there, I take him home. After a few weeks of this,  Anthony and Mike met and Mike and I took him home together at least once. And yet still… Anthony’s been a bit too flirty. And he’s been turning down rides from a couple we’re friends with who I did not know were also offering.

The man is full of flattery and compliments, which I dismiss rather easily since he is, you know, blind. He would ask if I were sure I really had a husband. (Yes. You’ve met him.) Then he gave me his phone number, his exact apartment address and started inviting me over and telling me he’s lonely. He hints that he’d like to try my cooking. I ignore those hints, but really that would solve this problem in no time flat. NO ONE likes my cooking and there’s a real good chance it’ll make you sick and afraid of me. And I don’t want to poison him. I just don’t want him to flirt with me. I suppose it’s a bit un-Christian to say, “I don’t talk to ANYONE on the phone, or go hang out with people I actually DO like and know, embrace the sense of lonely, Anthony,  and leave me out of it, and I’m sure not taking you up on any of this or start bringing over baked goods, so stopitrightnow.”  But I’m getting real close to saying something like that anyway. Or more polite. I don’t know. He lives VERY close to church and by the time I really start to think I should say something and work out what it might be, it’s easier to just open the door for him, hand him his crutches and forget about it for a week. But it isn’t going away.

Today was a great opportunity, what with Mike’s arrival – MIKE could take Anthony home. The only problem with this was that Mike had driven my truck. Mike couldn’t take Anthony home in my truck, as Anthony probably couldn’t get into it .And monster-truck, miniskirt, modesty are not three M words that get along well. So I waited until no one was around and climbed up into the truck. The skirt ripped. Loudly.

I waited in the parking lot, trying to hide and probably not doing a very good job. It’s hard to hide in a monster truck, but the task is easier if you’re hiding at the far opposite end of the parking lot and you’re hiding from a nice blind man.

Mike called me from a few parking spaces over. He’d been digging through the center console for who knows what. In that center console, among other things, is a pair of panties and a piece of paper with Anthony’s phone number and apartment number. Fortunately for me, Mike found this to be quite funny. Some husbands might not have. I realize this and am duly grateful.

Mike drove Anthony home and then called to tell me to meet him at a sandwich shop that plays really loud music and is always extremely cold. But the kids eat well there, so I didn’t object.  I couldn’t park my truck anywhere convenient and ended up way far away from anything. Which was just as well, as I hopped down in a torn miniskirt and there was no one around to notice.

The kids did eat well, but Caden-6yr spilled iced tea all over the table and down my already-freezing leg and I sat there listening to the blaring music and thinking how my avoiding Anthony probably demonstrated a total lack of understanding of the message at church. Or worse, not a total lack of understanding, but a serious unwillingness on my part. It was  a bit depressing.

But I can’t help but think that surely I’m an exception to the : Go be the salt of the earth thing. If I’m  the type that will accidentally sexually harass someone just while out doing an errand, then that is hardly doing God any favors and maybe I can just stay home and let someone else be salty.  Or if I can’t give a man on crutches a ride home without it turning icky, well, maybe someone else could have done that a lot better. I tend to be messing things up more than I’m helping.

(not that you asked, but there was a VERY good reason to have extra set of clean clothes in purse, involving gym locker shortages, etc. not that it matters. am freak and never want to go to a bank/church/anywhere again. this is terribly inconvenient.)

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