Whoopsy Part 2

Being at a festival at the crack of dawn is not really how I prefer to spend my day, especially if I'm working and not playing at said festival. I have a whole post about this festival brewing, but for now, let's just say it's one of the biggest festivals in West Virginia, and it revolves around the grain "buckwheat." Because we had a full day slated of nonprofit selling, raffling, recruiting and eventually riding in the parade, we were at the festival early. And we sort of rewarded ourselves by having a buckwheat pancake breakfast first. Supposedly the best place for said buckwheat cakes is in a Methodist church in a nearby town, close to where Director/Buddy lives, and thus convenient as a starting point.

I dislike going into churches for any reason. I've had enough of church to do me plenty for the rest of my life, thank you very much. I don't like it because no matter what the event, there's always a subtle way of slipping Gawd into the picture. But, Director/Buddy and her neighbor dude swore this was the best place to eat buckwheat cakes, so off we went.

I ate cakes and had some coffee and cracked the usual jokes about the place spontaneously catching fire now that we were in it, remarks about looking for the ceiling to crack and so on. Got done, headed for the exit. Oh, wait. You can't get out the door without taking one of the tiny New Testament Bibles from one of the preachers blocking your way. I guess you could've shoved through them, but that's bad form. You ate their buckwheat cakes in their hall, so you should probably grimace and mutter thank you and take the damn bible.

You probably shouldn't say, when you're only two steps away instead of the ten steps you thought, "What's this? Fancy toilet paper??"

Sigh. I think they wanted to light me on fire with their eyes.

-- Virgil