I shouldn't admit things to you like I do. Today a woman at church said, "You just tell it all in your blog, don't you?" And I admitted I did. And then I walked right into the chapel and did something that I shouldn't have done. And while I was doing it I knew I'd tell you all about it on my blog.
So, here's the deal. Yesterday I was on my feet several hours, helping with a funeral luncheon. When I got home and took off my shoes my toes screamed bad words. I examined them and realized my toenails needed to be cut as they had been jammed against my shoes. I need new toenail polish too--maybe something cute like, Gilmore Girl's--but that's another subject.
Our church doesn't start until 1:00 and so I had oodles of time to cut the toenails. I even had time to polish them. Did I? No. I puttered around the house doing everything else until I realized my friend was picking me up pretty soon. I flew to the shower and then barely finished making my face less "small-children-run-away-in-horror-ugly" and making my hair less witchy when she drove up. I grabbed my church bag and threw in something I shouldn't have.
The reason she takes me to church is because Phil is serving at a BYU ward and is gone before I'm even awake on Sunday morning. He usually picks me up after church but today was going to be late and so I knew I would probably be walking home with the jammed-against-the-shoes-long-toenails. My friend would drive me home, too but it was such a lovely day that I wanted to walk.
So...when I got into the chapel I was the only one there besides the organist. I slunk into my favorite pew and scooted all the way to the wall and took out the offending tool, the one that will keep me out of Heaven. And then I used it. Here is how the dialogue will go when I die:
Saint Peter: "Well, Lynne, you were a pretty good person."
Me: "Thank you, Saint Peter, I tried."
Saint Peter: "humm. I see by the record here that on a black day in November you cut your toenails RIGHT IN THE CHAPEL!"
Me: Clearing my throat and swallowing a few times. "Well, to be honest. I was very discrete. I was the only person in the chapel. I ducked out of sight. I picked up all the toenail clippings and took them out into the hall and dumped them in the garbage can." I will probably pause in my dialogue here and then I will say "I washed my hands."
Saint Peter: "Washed your hands?"
Me: "Well, okay, I forgot to wash my hands but I thought about it later, when I was blogging, and thought it would have been a really good idea."
Saint Peter: "I'll say. You shook people's hands, didn't you?"
Me: "I forget."
Saint Peter: "Right." He says in a sarcastic way. Who knew Saint Peter could be sarcastic? "Lying about washing the hands, and lying about being the only one in the chapel, and lying about forgetting if she shook people's hands, WHICH SHE DID," he says to himself as he marks something down in a his Big Official Book.
Me: "I'm really sorry. Does deathbed repentance count?"
Saint Peter: "It's too late, your deathbed was a few minutes ago."
Me: "Well, I knew it was probably not a good idea at the time."
Saint Peter: "But you did it anyway."
Me: "Well, yes, because I didn't want to walk home with painful toes."
Saint Peter: "You could have avoided that by cutting your toenails at home LIKE A SENSIBLE PERSON. And by polishing them too. Jeez!" Maybe Saint Peter doesn't say, "Jeez."
Me: "But the Alzheimer's!"
Saint Peter: "You never had Alzheimer's." He marks something else down in his big book which I am starting to think is called, The Big Book of Bad Ideas. "Lied about having Alzheimer's," he says to himself.
Me: "What are my chances of getting into Heaven?"
Saint Peter: "Well, not only did you cut your toenails IN THE CHAPEL and lied about washing your hands and lied about having Alzheimer's but you didn't wear pantyhose to church."
Me: "It was a warm day. My last days of pantyhose freedom. For crying out loud! What are you, the fashion police?"
Saint Peter: "Tisk, tisk, tisk," he says, shaking his head. "Disrespectful to the man who is in charge of the gates of Heaven." He writes in that Dang Big Book.
And then I'm sure I will disgrace myself by talking when I should be humble and I will end up in a not-so-wonderful spot for eternity.
So, don't try this at church. Try it at home, where normal people have the good sense to do it. And wear pantyhose. Unless you're a man and then I'm sorry for talking about pantyhose and toenails and embarrassing you.
Well, I'm not really sorry.
DO YOU HEAR THAT, SAINT PETER? I told the truth. I'm not really sorry so get out your BIG FAT ERASER and erase "Lied about being sorry," in your BIG FAT BOOK OF BAD BEHAVIOR.
Good grief. This pretty much clinches it, doesn't it? I'm not getting into Heaven.