Last night, after a fun day at the pool, I was looking forward to walking into a house that had been freshly cleaned by my fabulous cleaning man, Hernando. One of the great pleasures of my life is walking through a clean house, muttering, “Ah! Hernando,” and delighting in how lovely he and his crew of Columbians have made everything.
I was robbed of this joy yesterday, as all hell broke loose upon our arrival home from the pool. Something was wrong with the security system, and so every time someone opened the front or back door, an alarm went off, sounding like something you might hear in a prison riot. It took multiple conversations with a variety of people up the chain of command at Care Security to fix the problem the first time. Then, my husband came home from work, opened the front door, and the whole frustrating process started again.
The second time, the prison riot alarm never did shut off. We finally just left because we couldn’t listen to it anymore. We left our dog, HiHo, in the yard, and we forgot about her, because who can think straight when a prison alarm is going off? After meeting with someone with the alarm company, my husband was driving down our street and saw our dog happily running free. He rounded up HiHo and then promptly hit a parked car. Hell and HiHo had broken loose.
I’ve been going to this Wednesday night Bible study at a Methodist church with a few friends. (I’m not Methodist, but I like learning). The church offers childcare, so while my husband was dealing with the alarm, rounding up our dog, and hitting a parked car, I just threw the girls, post-bath and pajama-clad, into the car and headed to the Bible study. Luckily we had some clean, dry clothes for them in the pool bag, but we didn’t have hair bows. I swear to you that I know better than to bring little girls into a Methodist church without hair bows. If my children were bowless in a Methodist church (and they were), you know it was a real emergency situation.
I didn’t have time to grab hair bows, but I did have time to open a bottle of sparkling rosé and transfer some into a S’well bottle. I’m not normally the type of person who sneaks alcohol into Bible studies. Until now I haven’t even been the type to attend a Bible study at all; I guess showing up to a Bible study with alcohol is better than not showing up in the first place.
I wouldn’t have done it at a Baptist church—I’m not here to be disrespectful to people’s strongly held beliefs. But, as I understand it, Methodists are just Baptists who drink. They’re not quite at the tolerance level of Episcopalians, who don’t throw any event, religious, social, or educational, without an open bar, but I figured that if the Methodist denomination doesn’t have a problem with a little wine now and then, it’s not a big deal for me to bring a go-cup just this once. Because, after that prison riot alarm, I just really needed something to take the edge off, y’all.
After the Bible study my husband came and got the girls, and I got to go out for drinks and a snack with my friends at Mojito’s.
And it was lovely, sitting there, learning, while sipping on sparkling rosé, and then having a lively religious discussion about what we learned over cheese, charcuterie, and swirl margaritas. Am I the only one who’s ever brought a traveller to a Bible study? I can’t be the only one who’s ever done this. The S’well bottle made an audible fizz when I opened it. I hope the Lord understood.