"I Am the Bottom of the Barrel...
and I have been scraped," said the little voice in my head Sunday morning after *****-who-has-gone-to-my-parish-forever coerced me into brunch with him sometime. I was too exhausted from battling my cold, the depressing sermon, and a mild form of dysentery to think up a clever way out, dammit.
This is a classic case of Catholic Small-Parish Affection-Starved 30-Something NGB Asking Out Scary Flat-Chested Girl In Whom He Is Not Actually Interested, In Vague Desperate Hope That He Will Possibly At Some Point In The Future Get Some Action.
This is also known as Barking Up The Wrong Tree.
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But at least there is free food, hey?
A great big serving of awkwardness with a side of french toast, wavelet. It's a tiny parish and his sister's my only good friend there...
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