Gladys
still teases her hair to give it volume and over-combs it to style it. Good
grief, you’d think she was still living in the sixties! It’s Sunday morning and
she’s getting ready for church services. Shower, makeup, hairdo—in that order.
The phone
rings and she takes the call. She then rushes through the house to make sure
the children are dressed and ready to leave on time. She is known for her
organization skills and her promptness, and this particular Sunday will be
another validation of her capabilities.
She
arrives at the sanctuary fifteen minutes early so she can post the hymn numbers
at the front of the chapel. You see, she is the chorister. Her several children
are seated on the pew beside George and she is seated near the podium where she
will stand to lead the music when the time comes.
Using the
baton her father left her when he died, she leads the music confidently with
almost the same finesse her father had done.
One hour
later, she meets with the pastor to discuss changing from chorister to
organist. As she leaves the pastor’s office, she is facing a large mirror on
the wall opposite his office door. Her heart falls through the floor and she
wishes she could disappear with it! There she is—her hair combed down on one
side and still teased high into the air on the other side. THE PHONE CALL!
She
rushes into the restroom where one of her dear friends is just washing her
hands. “Good grief!” she exclaims to her friend. “Why on earth didn’t you tell
me my hair was such a mess?”
“You
know, my husband asked me if I thought you knew your hair looked like that,”
she said with a smile.
Gladys is taking her off her BFF list!
😂🤣😂🤣
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