Stations of the Cross Lady

Only one more day and Lent is over so I can start irritating people on my personal Facebook page again instead of just reading my notifications and getting twitchy fingers.

Because it really wasn’t much of a sacrifice only half giving up Facebook for Lent, I arose slightly earlier than usual this morning to get ready to suffer penance a bit in church.

When Scotto saw me getting ready, he decided to come too. He probably suspected I was up to something nefarious as me going to church, especially in the morning, is quite abnormal behaviour. The last time was about three years ago actually.

The beauty of this Stations of the Cross service was that it was at 10 o’clock which meant I still got to sleep in and not suffer too much.

When we arrived and sat in the pew, a man handing out response sheets ran out of them just before he got to us. Typical.

The nice, very pious-looking lady sitting a few seats away, moved next to us so we could read from her sheet. She was absolutely teeming with knowledge. “We’ll have to get up and follow the priest around the church as he goes through the Stations,” she coached me.

I didn’t fancy this idea because I prefer to sit… but what the hell... I mean heck. I listened closely to all her instructions and tried to impress her with my saintly and angelic demeanour.

Then the nice lady said she’d seen me around the church before but not for a VERY long time. I explained that I’d been a few times the previous year because I’d worked at the school but now I taught at a different school and went to the church there. She smiled at me sweetly, recognising a fellow companion in religious devoutness.

“There aren’t many people here! It’s a disgrace!” she sniffed in disgust as she perused the congregation.

“Maybe more people will come on Easter Sunday,” I offered meekly.

“This is a more important service,” she scoffed.

I nodded sagely. After all, I was there wasn’t I? Where were all the other heathens?

The priest began the service. “Why aren’t the fools getting up and following the priest,” she hissed in my ear with a sense of what I could only describe as brutal outrage. She went to push me and Scotto forward but then thankfully she noticed NO ONE was moving and the priest didn’t seem the least bit perturbed.

The service was quite long, fourteen stations long, with A LOT of praying in between. 

Scotto had trouble kneeling what with his gammy knee, and not being a Catholic he had to pretend to know the right responses by mouthing random words and making a dull, humming noise.

Finally at the end, I turned to the nice lady to say Happy Easter (even though I felt it might be irreverent to say the word ‘happy’ because of the whole crucifixion thing). Before I could get the words out she leaned past me and poked Scotto in the ribs.

“Excuse me, but you were chewing gum throughout the entire service. You know you shouldn’t chew gum in church!” she looked at him scathingly.

With a bit of tongue dexterity I managed to manoeuvre my own chewing gum to the inside of my cheek so she wouldn’t notice I had a chewy in my gob as well.

“No!” I agreed, nodding, frowning at Scotto and holding the gum clenched tight. “You shouldn’t chew in church, it’s very disrespectful.”


“How can you take Holy Communion while you’re chewing?” she continued to rail.


“Yes Scotto,” I concurred. “You can’t have Jesus AND chewing gum in your mouth at the same time!”

Scotto broke into nervous giggles.

“It’s no laughing matter,” the nice lady chipped.

“No. It’s not.” I gave him a stern look. “Not funny at all.”

Then the nice lady hugged me and told me to have a happy Easter but she didn’t hug Scotto.

I was secretly thrilled because most people ALWAYS prefer Scotto to me.


She probably thought he was beyond the reach of redemption. Lol.