By: Peggy Willms
(3 min read)
It’s Sunday—my blog day. I am not at church. I am drinking coffee, and as my fingers got ready to dance on the keyboard, all of a sudden, I began seeing images of me sitting in a church pew over 20 years ago.
If you have ever been to church, you know the deal. Every weekend starts with a choice. Are you attending the 9 AM service, or will you sleep in and hit the one at eleven? Regardless of the service we attended, we laid out our clothes the night before. I am an ironing freakazoid, so no one from my household showed up looking half-put together.
We would arrive early to avoid battling for a parking spot. The second we entered the lobby, we were hit by a waft of fresh coffee and donuts, and it made me smile. I loved that church. You know, Jesus loves coffee and donuts, too.
Immediately the hugs and handshakes started, and you were bombarded with the same conversations from the previous Sunday. “How are you doing? How are the kids? Love your blouse. Girl, that lipstick rocks.”
As service prepared to kick off, I would quickly scan the room, looking for the perfect spot. Why didn’t we just sit in the exact location each week? Ms. Samuel does, and you damn straight better not move her bible covered with a floral print and her granny-square shawl. I will never know why people race in to save a spot an hour before service.
We usually sat about six rows back. Just enough to not feel guilty if we didn’t praise our Lord with waving hands and body jiggles. This is me, not judging. For some dumb reason, however, we always sat in the middle of the pew, which made absolutely no sense because someone needed to use the restroom as soon as we sat down.
Then came the tithing basket. Then came the sermon. Then the church band kicked in. I still think the band is the only reason my teenager would accompany me. Dang, that band was incredible.
Every single time I went to church, I had a problem. I became distracted. Shocker! And it was the same distraction every single time. I will give you a teaser. It involved females approximately 65ish or older and various colors—sometimes silver, blue, or even purple.
It is Church Lady bedhead.
We’re talking about that smooshed-down patch of hair on the left or the right side of their head actively swirling around their gorgeous cowlick. Their front side is beautifully crafted with ruby red lipstick and rosy cheeks. They are sharply dressed, wearing those 2-inch thick wedged heels Queen Elizabeth wore for decades. Now I know you’re with me. You can envision this.
I mean it. Every time I went to church, I counted how many bedheads were present. Can you imagine how busy I would have been if I had sat in the back row? Then, occasionally, I would return to reality and hear the Lord‘s message. But here is the kicker…
The older I get, the less I care about my appearance when I go out in public. So perhaps the day will come when I will no longer care what the back of my mohawk looks like.
Many people say they don’t look back, but it’s worth it in this instance. So for all you Grannies out there, grab that antique, hand-held mirror and take a quick peek. Then, wake up that mop on your head with a few squirts of Aqua Net, and keep those windows rolled up on that station wagon. If you all comply, I might have to pay attention the next time I go to church.