If you knock on my door at 9am on Sunday morning, you ask for it.
This morning I opened the door in a white, rather tight t-shirt (no bra) and leopard undies. Outside was an elderly gentleman, suffering a deadly sweat in his long-sleeved office-blue shirt and bow tie.
Him: Good morning mam, how are you
Me: I’m good, thank you, how are you? (oh I wish I was different)
Him: Thank you, I’m well
Me: What can I do for you?
Him: I would like to invite you to the celebration of the mortification of Christ
Mr Blueshirt, looking at the toes of his shoes, hands forward a yellow leaflet with pictures of the Garden of Eden and Christ (why are these always yellow?)
Me: aaahh – are you asking me if I have any plans for Easter?
Him (face lit up like an alter candle): YES
Me (finally brave): Well, we do, and they don’t involve you I’m afraid. Have a good day.
This is a little hint for you all: if you want to invite me for Easter, framing it as the mortification of Christ aint the way to go. Just so you know.