This past Sunday, Polly sat in a pew next to Sherman* for the second week in a row. Not only was she in the pew, but that meant she wasn't in the choir loft--where everyone she hung out with three days a week could see her. After mass, several women approached Polly, striking up conversations and making a point to introduce themselves to Sherman. By the way, this is considered "polite."
Polly told to me she was surprised at the number of friendly folks. I pointed out that every woman she mentioned has an eligible son and they'd scoped out Polly on their child's behalf. After these women walked away Sunday morning, they immediately rang their single offspring, telling them they just missed their shot at dating Polly and what is wrong with them!? At which point, Polly pointed out that my explanation seemed extreme. I assured her these mothers were using all extreme measures necessary to get their sons married off and it had zero to do with how long she and her fella had been seeing each other (not long) and more to do with their lack of grandchildren. Additionally, the gossip mill prayer circle will be chock-full of requests for their sons to find someone like Polly (and to be fair, I'm also thinking their might be a few uncharitable women who want the freshly-divulged friendship between Polly and Sherman to fail. I haven't met Sherman yet, so I haven't formed an opinion or asked for a prayer request).
Meanwhile, at the same time this was going on Sunday morning, I was saving a seat for Myra at the Church of Christ . I had invited her to join me at the service this past week. Myra was raised Church of Christ, but hasn't gone for her own reasons. When my friend Myra entered, she ran into another acquaintance who recognized her and happily dragged her husband to sit next to us, making sure to introduce Myra to every passing person in the congregation. By the way, this is considered "polite."
And after the service, the smell of a stranger loomed large. Poor Myra ended up with a receiving line so long that it took me five minutes to get out of the pew because people were swarming. What none of these well-meaning folks understood was Myra's Introvert Face blazed brighter with each handshake and invitation to some other upcoming event. All Myra wanted to do was LEAVE. I wasn't much help because at this point, my face matched hers and I would have jumped over the pews to bolt if Bonus Mom hadn't taught me about decorum. I'm sure the prayer circle gossip mill buzzed for hours about how to get in touch with me or anyone else who might know Myra and invite her to sixteen events this week. (My phone will be off.)**
Anyway, during Sunday lunch with my family I offered to trade churches with Polly next week, just to give us both a break. She declined, figuring she had the better end of the deal.
*All of my children's special friends end up with unfortunate nicknames. In this case he's a First Lieutenant and Buck--who has met him--says he's built like a tank, hence, Sherman.
**As I wrote that paragraph, my phone buzzed with . . . you guessed it.