Hello, friends! As my quest for a boyfriend continues through my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” series, many of you have offered well-intentioned advice. I appreciate that you all care enough to make suggestions. However, I believe some of the suggestions are slightly off the mark.
The most common advice I have received is:
Go to church.
Okay, let’s try to work out some strategies for trolling for a man at church. I am sure the nuns would disapprove. But Pope Francis seems pretty progressive. So what the hell, why not?
Plan A: Be a greeter.
I could check out the men entering alone or with children in tow. After checking their fingers for wedding rings, I would observe how well-behaved their children were or were not. Guys with screaming banshees would be eliminated immediately. Then I could transform into an usher for the remaining bachelors and escort them to nice, hard, wooden pews, chatting them up the entire time.
Plan B: Hijack the lector.
The lector in most churches also reads the weekly announcements. I would snatch the list and race to the lectern for an eagle eye view of the congregation. I would insert my plight of trying to find a guy who is husband material in between announcing the second collection for our sister parish in (insert name of Third World Country here) and reminding everyone to come out and enjoy Bingo night. Interested parties should see me in the Narthex after Mass.
Plan C: Determine how Catholic these men really are.
During Mass, I could position myself on the end of a pew that has a good line of sight to most of the church. I would see who knows the words to the prayers without having to look at the Missalette and who at least attempts to sings the songs. Failure in either category jettisons them from consideration.
Plan D: Be the guest homilist.
Perhaps the real guest speaker accidentally locks himself/herself in the bride’s room or the crying room, allowing me to speak instead. My topic would be about finding your one true love, making it clear that I am one of those people still looking. Any man who nods off would be scratched off the list. Again, interested parties should check me out in the Narthex after Mass.
Plan E: Locate Mr. Moneybags.
I could volunteer to pass the basket around at Offertory (a.k.a. The Presentation of the Gifts.) I could sort through the envelopes looking at donation amounts. And lucky me, I have extra time because of that special second collection for our sister parish. The largest donor wins!
Plan F: Glad-hand.
I would scope out the best candidates based on Plans A through E. At the Sign of Peace, I would dart around the church and shake those guys’ hands, hoping for a spark when our eyes meet. Wimpy handshakes, clammy handshakes and God-forbid, sticky handshakes would be deemed unacceptable.
Plan G: Check out their jeans.
During Communion, I could check out their rear ends as they file up to the priest to receive the holy sacrament. Once I selected the men with the nicest derrieres, after Mass, I would hand them a bulletin with my name and phone number on it.
All perfect plans, right?
Sorry gentle readers, but trolling for a boyfriend during a Catholic Mass is not feasible, not to mention, it’s just wrong! And I would probably have to go to Confession because of it. Imagine how that would go.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been thirty-two years since my last confession.”
Hey, don’t judge me. The only thing I ever had to confess was arguing with my brother. I was a goody two-shoes. Ask anybody who knows me. My penance was always one Our Father, three Hail Marys and a Glory Be.
If I had to confess to a priest today, I would confess to occasionally swearing and killing off characters in my books who may or may not represent people in real life who have pissed me off.
I think God understands why I do both.
Copyright © 2016 by Suzanne Purewal