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Mr Witchy an mi were listening to an East Orange reggae/dancehall radio station that I like at work (the old Victorian house on Scotland Rd that I sell antiques from) just now... Lady Saw & Beenie Man doing some sort of a medely. I was singing along. Smaddy came up onto the front porch...
Now my office is the front parlor of this 1840s Victorian home. I have a huge bay window overlooking the front lawn and sidewalk, Scotland Road, etc... and a big window that overlooks the front porch (offset to the side of the house). I didn't see who was on the porch, but I hear someone out there. I quickly stopped singing Lady Saw's "Sycamore Tree" lyrics.
In through the front door walked a local Baptist minister whom I know, barely know... from my activity in politics. Oh, my GOD!!!
"Rev" (I'd rather not talk about him online.) sternly said to me, "Mrs Witchy, does your priest know that you listen to that kind of music? That you SING it?!"
"Ah... well, I don't think I've ever really discussed with him what I sing when I'm alone, actually... It's not something that has ever come up. It's not important... I mean... Ah..."
Crapcakes, I thought to myself, I'm sunk, doomed.
Sure enough, Rev replied that he believes that Father ought to know, and perhaps I ought to mention it at my next Confession.
Like a Baptist minister has any right to tell any Catholic what to Confess or not to Confess, given that Baptists don't believe in Catholic Confession...
I gave him my sweetest smile and reminded him "judge not, lest you be judged" likewise, uncharitably, in this case.
Then I turned the radio down, and asked him what brought him to my shop and how I could help him this afternoon. Turns out that he is looking for a particular piece of furniture and hopes that I can find it for him. So now I'm scouting for it; I'd love to be able to sell him a piece that expensive.
I could use the money.
And this Jew isn't going to let this Catholic let her commission go, either, not even for "a man of God"...
Nope. Not gonna happen.
So my love of Lady Saw led me into Trouble - with a capital T, this afternoon. dwl
Now my office is the front parlor of this 1840s Victorian home. I have a huge bay window overlooking the front lawn and sidewalk, Scotland Road, etc... and a big window that overlooks the front porch (offset to the side of the house). I didn't see who was on the porch, but I hear someone out there. I quickly stopped singing Lady Saw's "Sycamore Tree" lyrics.
In through the front door walked a local Baptist minister whom I know, barely know... from my activity in politics. Oh, my GOD!!!
"Rev" (I'd rather not talk about him online.) sternly said to me, "Mrs Witchy, does your priest know that you listen to that kind of music? That you SING it?!"
"Ah... well, I don't think I've ever really discussed with him what I sing when I'm alone, actually... It's not something that has ever come up. It's not important... I mean... Ah..."
Crapcakes, I thought to myself, I'm sunk, doomed.
Sure enough, Rev replied that he believes that Father ought to know, and perhaps I ought to mention it at my next Confession.
Like a Baptist minister has any right to tell any Catholic what to Confess or not to Confess, given that Baptists don't believe in Catholic Confession...
I gave him my sweetest smile and reminded him "judge not, lest you be judged" likewise, uncharitably, in this case.
Then I turned the radio down, and asked him what brought him to my shop and how I could help him this afternoon. Turns out that he is looking for a particular piece of furniture and hopes that I can find it for him. So now I'm scouting for it; I'd love to be able to sell him a piece that expensive.
I could use the money.
And this Jew isn't going to let this Catholic let her commission go, either, not even for "a man of God"...
Nope. Not gonna happen. So my love of Lady Saw led me into Trouble - with a capital T, this afternoon. dwl
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