I’m sick. What I sort of hoped was allergies is a nice big respiratory infection. When I’m sick, I’m scrupulous about my clothes and makeup with the notion that feeling awful and looking awful need not travel together. I put on my grey skinny jeans, a secretary blouse, a vintage blazer, and heels. I put on blush and bronzer both to conceal my deathly pallor and lots and lots of lipgloss.

Good morning.

Yikes. You look terrible. What did you do last night?

I’m sick. Then I coughed horrifyingly for several seconds.

Well, you sound it and you look it.

That interaction did not favorably dispose me toward the pastor. I dislike being told I look terrible. I think it’s rude–especially when I’ve taken such pains to overcome urges toward headbands and sweatpants.

Why don’t you plan to go home just as early as you can today? Whenever you get things around for Sunday, leave.


Then I blew my nose. I worry my nose is louder than other people’s, but that’s truly difficult to verify.

I finished the bulletin and sundry other jobs I had to accomplish. Then, about ten minutes ago, I slipped the still unfolded bulletin and its several inserts into my shoulder bag.

If you really don’t mind me leaving early, I’m going to head out. I’ll finish the bulletin at home.

I actually fold bulletins at home about 70% of the time. I’m supposed to work til noon on Fridays, but often I end up leaving at two or later. The whole bulletin folding business can easily be accomplished at home, say, on a Saturday afternoon in front of bad television.

Don’t be stupid. Give ’em here. I’m not doing anything. I’ll fold them for you, and you go get some rest. Drink some fluids. Get on out of here.

Wow. Are you sure–

Yep. I can do it. Leave.

Boss-ome indeed.

I’m going to face-plant on the couch now and watch Harold Lloyd movies.