The Fog

It sets in every Sunday. The morning starts beautifully. I wake in a great mood to the sunlight spilling through my curtains. The birds are singing sweetly. I awaken my family, and we begin to prepare for church. I am ready for the day. I am ready to worship God.

Ten minutes into the service, the fog hits me. It's everywhere. I can't escape it. I need fresh air, but there's none to be found. The fog affects my brain, making it hard to concentrate. Before long, the headache begins. If only I had taken some Tylenol before I left the house. I still wouldn't be able to breathe, but at least my head wouldn't hurt. Next comes the nausea. I refuse to throw up. "I can make it another 15 minutes," I tell myself, "and next time, I'll sit in the balcony; maybe the fog settles closer to the ground."

After months of conditioning, I am like Pavlov's dog. Church = headache. Now, it's hard to get out of bed on Sunday. I know I'll spend the rest of the day trying to recuperate.

So, friends, please spread the word: God doesn't need you to smell prettier on Sunday than any other day of the week. Hundreds of women, all in one room, each wearing a different perfume, creates a toxic perfume cloud that could kill us all!