Pass the (non-sacramental) wine

It is with a deep sigh of relief – and a tip of a fine (ample) glass of Zinfandel – that I report that I did not swear in church.
I actually did quite well, considering.
Father asked if I had practiced the reading.
“Yeeeessssss,” I said.
“The long version?”
“Yeeeesssss.”
“OK, go with the long version then.”
Less words would have worked too, you know.
I enjoy public speaking. I really do. I have spoken to large groups and small; grownups and children. I gave the eulogy at both my mom’s rosary and at her funeral. And I got through that like a champ.
Why this was getting to me, I have no clue.
Everyone said I did great (maybe they were being nice; but I do have a great reading voice).
I did manage to bobble one word – propriety – which I read over as property. And that didn’t make much sense:
“…and our less presentable parts are treated with greater propriety, whereas our more presentable parts do not need this.”
So, OK, read that, and substitute property.
What gets me, however, is what I did (in a panic) before mass even started. I have been attending Catholic mass, off and on, for going on 44 years; I can recite the Lord’s Prayer without looking; I can recite the Liturgy of the Eucharist right along with the priest.
I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I was supposed to say after the reading. It wasn’t in the workbook.
So I looked it up on the Internets.
“The word of the Lord.”
Easy, right?
I just couldn't commit it to memory.
So I wrote it on the palm of my hand.
With a Sharpie.
It was in the big book on the alter.
And now until it wears off, “The word of the Lord” is tattooed on my palm.
In blue ink.
Oy Vey – and pass the Zin.

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