Juice with Jesus
Back from the holiday party - which was no longer the family gathering it used to be. It's become "Juice with Jesus." For those of you playing along at home, I'll fill you in. When I was a kid, suffering through the tortures and repression of Catholic school, I was forced to go to the "folk mass" every Sunday, where I would listen to the screeching sounds of my annoying classmate, Andrea, as she feebly played the guitar and sang hymns. Badly. Afterwards, they served juice and cookies. Hence, it was known as Juice with Jesus. It was shortly after my friend Missy got her driver's license that we started to go skip out on JWJ and head to breakfast at the local diner. Usually hungover from juice with vodka. Her parents eventually got wise and started asking her what the homily was about. Mine realized I was a lost cause. I gave up on Missy, Hi-C and Jesus around 1984. I still eat cookies.
Now, as revenge for marrying into a family of crazy, screaming Italians, Deb drags me to her family gatherings. Today was one of those days. Quick sidebar: Her family is Born Again. I am an atheist. And a lesbian. And a loudmouth. The one time I went to a service at the family's "church" we were served ... what else, juice and cookies. Of course. Apparently lacking in overly sweetened fruit juice, the lord and savior was forced to drink wine 2000 years ago. Poor guy. (I bet he would have walked on water for a bottle of Chateau Margaux.)
So today, unexpectedly, we show up at what we thought would be the 17th consecutive family gathering of the summer, and lo and behold, there were more of them than us. We were outnumbered. Do the math: 2 lesbians (1 atheist) vs. 2 ministers, 15 devout followers of JC, 7 kids, a handful of grandparents, 97 degree heat, NO alcohol. Hell, might as well thrown in a plague of locusts.
We managed to survive the 6 hour ordeal without one blessing, one round of hand-holding. Divine intervention? Perhaps. In need of a drink? Oh, most definitely. Now, where the hell is my corkscrew...