So, imagine if I came in wearing something that might rival a float in the Rose Bowl parade on my head and plopped down in front of anyone’s line of vision. Especially in church. Oh, my, the unChristian thoughts that would begin to percolate in my direction…
So in fear am I of these that I chose to look decidedly unfashionable each Sunday during the ‘big hair’ days of the 1980s. Had I been an adult during the era of the ‘beehive,’ I think I would have become a recluse.
And certainly avoided ceiling fans.
If I am to practice the Golden Rule, I will simply, as usual, refrain from causing consternation to my fellow parishioners and take part, instead, in some serious bonnet-envy and vicariously drink in the whimsey and beauty that will float before me upon the heads of those incapable of a slam dunk.
I shall compliment them mightily, might even coo, and send them on their way, awash with self-satisfaction.
For now.
Because sometime in the future, I might just snap. I might just take a cue from that well-known, “When I’m old, I’ll wear more purple” poem, and slap a high-rise on my noggin and unapologetically swan down the aisle and sink down in the pew in front of you. And if I do, well, Brother,
Forgive me.