Hanging Tough

It took Adolf Hitler twenty-six days to force Poland to surrender.

It has been twenty-one and counting for Ukraine and BabyHead Putin. When I grow up, I want to be a rich Ukrainian.

Living in America.

I think there are too many TV and movie options thanks to all the streaming services who not only show movies, but they are making their own movies.

I know I am setting myself up, but with all these choices, there are only so many really talented actors to go around. Consequently, there are too many average- looking leading men and women.

I get it.

Inclusiveness, no body-shaming, all of it.

But, I still miss the days where you had to be good looking to be in front of the camera.

I never remember saying to myself (or anyone else for that matter) “there are just too many good-looking women on the screen.”

Is that sexist?

Guilty as charged.

Here is the short-short story which I may have posted before, but we are continuing the excerpts from my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!

Enjoy.

Broken Light Bulb

          Gina parked her car in the first row of spaces near the church entrance. It was an hour and a half until mass began, but she arrived early to confess her weekly sins. If ever she needed to go to confession, this was the week. She dipped her fingers into the holy water, made the sign of the cross, and then made her way to the confessional. Her low-heels clicked on the grey stone floor as she walked.               

          Click.Click.Click.Click.

          She sat in a pew near the confessional compartments, pulled down the knee-rest, and began praying. She clutched her gold crucifix necklace tightly and silently mouthed her prayers of contrition. There were three others in line before her, but she needed the extra time anyway.

          It had been that kind of week.

          Both outside compartments emptied at the same time. Gina saw it was a mother clutching her rosary with white knuckles. Her little girl, about the same size and age as Gina’s nephew, stomped her shoes petulantly. The mother was mouthing her silent prayers while steering her daughter to the rows of candles, both lit and unlit. She slid two folded dollar bills into a slot, lit two candles, and knelt before the religious statue.

          “Pray for Daddy baby,” she instructed as her little girl lowered her head, asking for divine help in making Daddy better.

          Gina entered the confessional and knelt, the priest obscured by the lattice window.

          The sins began flowing: Bless me Heavenly Father for I have sinned. This is so hard to say. I was unfaithful to my spouse and had sex with another man…I stole money from one of the collection baskets…I drank alcohol to excess and….I improperly touched a young boy—my nephew.

          Dead quiet.

          After what seemed like hours, Gina broke the silence.

          “Father?”

          “Yes child?

          “Why are you telling me this? I thought I was supposed to confess to you.”

Stay well.