So, it had been a hard week; hard enough that my little car did not move all day Saturday. I just stayed home, piddling around the house. When we left for church Sunday morning, I found my purse—and my dead phone—right where I had dropped it Friday night.
I was looking forward to a restful time of worship Sunday morning. MIL and I slid into our pew just as the music began. It was good.
As the music subsided, Pastor moved to the front to begin his sermon. As he did, I reached into my purse to find an ink pen, inveterate note-taker that I am.
As I fished around, my thumb landed on something soft, and then I felt it pierce some unknown object, squishing. I could feel something cover the end of the thumb, squeezing up under the nail, soft, wet, downright slimy.
I jerked the hand out to find my thumb and part of the hand covered with a gooey, gross mess. I sat in the pew horror-struck as my mind tried to comprehend exactly what had happened.
Then the smell hit and my brain made identification—it was my uneaten Friday banana. I had slipped it into my purse on Friday as I had left the office, and it incubated all day Saturday until on Sunday morning—overripe for the popping-- it was burst open by my hand in the middle of the church service.
I peered into my purse to see the damage and to find a Kleenex (no such luck). It was a mess. I wiped my hand on my pants leg—what else to do?
The preacher started us off with a prayer, and this is what he asked of the Lord: “Please help us clear away the distractions of last week; the distractions of financial trouble; the distractions of work…”
So help me, I added my own prayer: “And the distraction of knowing there is a rotting banana oozing forth in the purse beside you…”