I thought I could keep this story to myself, but, as it turns out, I can’t. While we were at the memorial service this week, I was asked if I was a child’s father. The child in question was standing next to his actual father. I think the kid and I were the only ones who heard the question. The kid looked at me funny. I tried to keep a straight face. Normally, I’d be all “I am woman hear me roar” but the stupid person who asked was an old lady and she was at the memorial service of a friend of hers. She corrected herself almost immediately. I should hope so. I was wearing a black suit (no way was I going to spend upwards of 8 hours in the car wearing hose and a dress), modest heels, jewelry, some makeup (not a lot–mostly just around the eyes, but lipstick was part of the package) and carrying a purse. Episcopalians are very welcoming of all God’s children, but I’m pretty sure the deceased wasn’t friends with any cross-dressers.
Find it, please
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