Three things you can't see in the above:
1. Me. But trust me; I was there.
2. The HUGE cross on my forehead the priest put on me at our noontime Ash Wednesday service. She* might as well have used a can of spray paint, because she didn't so much mark me as tag me.
You've heard of people playing chess using people as the players--like the moving statues in the first Harry Potter movie? Well, by the end of the service, the cathedral was like a huge game of tic-tac-toe (noughts and crosses, if you're anglophilic). We were all Crosses wondering when the Noughts were going to show up.
3. My newly-waxed eyebrows. See, in today's Gospel lesson we were enjoined to look happy when we fast, and put oil on our heads and other extremely unappealing Ancient World things like that. But I did have four hours to kill between services, so I went to a spa that takes walk ins and had a manicure, pedicure, and a brow wax.
Not to brag or anything, but I was definitely the best-groomed penitent at the six o'clock service.
It's true! My fingernails (a deep mulberry color) matched my choir robe exactly.
* I'm an Episcopalian, which means we can call our ministers priests. Even though many of them are female. In this, as in many ways, we fuck with people's heads.
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