Last week I went to a Singles Ward for the very first time in my life.
This is what happens when you get married in pre-adolescence. You pretty much skip the Singles Ward scene.
I didn’t recognize that this was a new experience for me until there I sat during the Sacrament service in said Singles Ward. It was SO VERY QUIET (I realize the irony of using the typewritten language that signifies yelling to say how quiet it was…).
The quiet actually made me uncomfortable. Seriously…dead…calm.
I kept looking around, waiting for someone to be irreverent. Then it came to me…the irreverent one was ME.
It’s just that the quiet was so discombobulating. I didn’t know what to do with it.
Then, in keeping with my immaturity, when the speaker talked about how magnifying our callings is our “duty” to God, I got kind of head silly.
Because the word “duty” has always made me laugh. Do your duty, duty free, call of duty, in the line of duty, jury duty, etc.
Duty duty duty.
Generally I find scatological humor (this is the term movie critics use to say the movie contains bathroom humor) gross and pretty much not funny. But I often go there in my head, and it’s just so juvenile.
And I am ashamed of myself.
George Carlin used to ask the question: How does a blind man know when he’s through wiping?
See, that makes me laugh. And I think of it…well, every time I’m in that situation.
This is what my head does when it’s given free reign of thought.
Added to all this, a few days ago I came out of the pantry strategically holding two grapefruits right where you think I’m holding them. And this I did for the benefit of Mini, who was in the kitchen.
He looked at me, shook his head, and said, “How old are you?”
I think I’d say twelve. About twelve.
(I just realized I have said this before. Perhaps it is, in fact, true.)