My neighbor, a fine Christian wife and mother, as well as the president of our local Christian Women's League to Uplift the Pathetic, made an offhand remark as we were chatting across our large and scrupulously manicured lawns. The weather had turned quite warm and she was wearing a pair of black capris.
“I’m getting so hot in my pants,” she said as she fanned herself with her left hand, causing the sun to glitter merrily across her three-karat, round, brilliant-cut diamond.
“I need to change my clothes.” Under most circumstances, this would not be a problem; however, we were not under most circumstance. Assistant Pastor Longfellow’s mother, Titsy, was with me, and she raised her eyebrows in a most supercilious way. This is ironic because she is divorced, she smokes, and she wears low-cut, cheap polyester tops. She is a scold and a gossip to boot. Why was she in my presence, you may ask yourselves, my Pristine Daughters of Piety? She was on an errand to pick up some charming little table centerpieces that I had whipped up for the ladies’ prayer breakfast the following day.
“Only someone like you would take her words and twist them that way. Her body temperature was too hot from the sun; nothing more than that was meant.”
Titsy pulled down her tight orange top, thus revealing more cleavage, and lit a cigarette.
“Right, Gladys. Whatever you say.”
“How dare you smoke on my property! This is a Christian home, and you would do well to change your ways. Your son is the assistant pastor at our church, after all.” I opened the back door, slammed it in her prune-like face, and collected the centerpieces. When I returned, she was still smoking and a piffle of disgusting ash dunged my beautiful patio floor. I placed my cargo on the table, pinched the cigarette from between her lips, took it to the grass, and ground it out. “Here.” I handed her the butt, “Take this with you.”
Titsy selected a centerpiece from the box and stared into my eyes as she dropped it onto the cement. “Oops,” she said flatly. The way the ceramic shards and dainty flower lay upon the ground looked like an Amazonian spider to me, and I felt a kinship with that creature.
I picked up the King James Bible from the patio table (I had been studying Ephesians earlier) and held it aloft. “Begone, Trash! I mean it. If you don’t leave now, I'll call down the Lord's wrath upon you!” I shook violently as I felt the muscles in my upper torso pulse.
“Easy now, Gladys,” I heard the Lord say. “She won’t last long anyway. Lung cancer from the smoking.” I made a mental note to get back with Him on this.
“You’re crazy! My son’s going to hear about this!” Titsy grabbed the box of centerpieces and fled to her car. Just as she closed the hatchback of her jalopy, she screamed to no one in particular, “The woman who lives in this house is a nutcase!”
Of course, none of my neighbors paid the slightest bit of attention to her clownish display. It’s clear that she did not belong, so I’m sure they took her as the nobody that she is. That being said, I must return to the topic at hand. Although my gracious neighbor had only the most wholesome intent in her remark, a feeble-minded hag such as Titsy is all too ready to find fault with anything that is said, especially if it issues from the lips of a lady.
My Dear Miss Merriweather: I am so happy that the Lord has placed people like you on earth to defend and explain the godly. Please know that Titsy was put in your path so that you may englighten her as to her sinful ways. Praise God.