Frank's Bad Day

             There’s an old boat in the neighborhood. It’s parked on the street. It looks like a sixteen-footer. It’s a dinky little thing. It makes me laugh every time I see it.  It has the name “Scotch on Water”, plastered on it's stern.  “Scotch on Water,” I’ll say to myself as I drive past, hahaha! God I love boat names. There’s nothing better than a good boat name, unless of course, it’s a good racehorse name. The creativity in these two areas is immeasurable. It’s hard not to laugh when I see some of the names. Mr. Tip-Sea is another good boat name. I’d like to name a racehorse, Franksbadday. 

Smug the Father

            I spent yesterday in the suburbs. It was my goddaughter’s confirmation ceremony, a big deal to Catholics. I grew up as Methodist, but I always wanted to be a catholic. Not any more. Not after yesterday’s mass. I almost didn’t make it through. I wanted to run out of there soon after entering the church. I was nursing a hangover. I wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with.

After having to stand up and sit down a number of times, I started to resent the father giving the sermon. He’d smugly lift his hand and everybody would stand up. He’d turn his palm downwards and everybody would sit down. I was thinking he had a little too much power and that he was starting to abuse it. I was suffering. I couldn’t sit still. Half the congregation took communion. It took forever. I was relieved when it was finally over. 

            “Good mass.” I said afterwards.

            “Yes, good mass.” my friend said.