S, who doesn’t work Sundays, because of a life long case of Pentecostalism, and M, who needs Sunday off to attend a Christening, are chatting in the drive thru corner, while I eat my dinner in the dining room. I can hear them well from my spot, but they don’t know it.
S: Did you find anyone to work for you on Sunday?
M: No, not yet.
S: Why don’t you ask Crystal? She’ll work for you.
M: Crystal doesn’t work Sundays. She’s a Buddhist.
M walks over to me and says, “You’re a Buddhist, right?”
“M, I’m Mormon.” ::laughs uncontrollably for a few seconds, before reigning myself in.::
M walks back over to the corner. “She’s Norman, not Buddhist.”
In other news, I’m going to the Messiah Sing in Belmont tonight, and I’m not going alone.
Why do all my dates end up being Church functions? There has to be a joke in there somewhere.