Why I Am Going To Hell In a Hand Basket
Hi my name is Lorelai and I am a judger. I judge peoples looks, their hair, and even their shoes. I try not to do this, and I know it's mean, but damned if I don't make comments in my head about ugly shoes and prints that should never be seen in public. Making these comments is not really the thing that will bring on the brimstone and hellfire, it's where the majority of my comments are made. I seem to find an endless supply of what not to wear at my church.
Every Sunday I walk in and am telling myself thou shalt not judge. If I am lucky I can make it 30 minutes. This was not a lucky Sunday. I had the misfortune of standing behind the gnarliest mullet I have ever seen in my life. I tried to look away, and I even tried to focus on the great sermon (which was on denying temptation--are you kidding me). By the end all I could do was look inward and pray. Who am I kidding I also had to walk away. As I glance around my fellow parishioners and witness a fashion don't, I make up stories about these disasters. Take the mullet for instance. I wondered how a hairstyle could go so wrong, and decided that her child was becoming a hair stylist and she was the first customer. Because it was her child she had to wear it out. Then I really liked the lady because she owned that tragic hairstyle (my mind is a scary place I know).
As you are reading this you may wonder about my own fashion sense. Let me reassure you, I'm no fashion great. Most days if I remember to brush my hair I am impressed with myself, and my clothing leaves a lot to be desired. I sometimes think I use my comments as my own episode of "What Not to Wear." If nothing else it keeps me from sporting a mullet.