From The Archives: An Imagined Speech to the Couple Snuggling in the Pew Two Rows Up

Hard as it is to believe, The Talking Mirror will celebrate it’s first birthday this week.  Those of you who have been with us since the beginning (I refer here to my mother and Conor’s mother) will no doubt remember the half-formed fetus of a blog that was foisted upon the internet community last September.  Those of you who have joined us along the way will no doubt marvel at the  muscle-bound, semi-literate toddler it has become.  In addition to the requisite photos of TTM’s face and high chair covered in chocolate cake, we have decided to commemorate its first birthday by republishing some of our favorite pieces from the archives.  These are all from 2008 so many of you will have missed or forgotten them.  So read them again, for the first time.  Thanks again for all the visits, links, comments, and compliments.  We hope you enjoy these TTM classics and look forward to another year of half-assed commentary, and non-sensical cultural references.

(whispered) Excuse me. Hi. How are ya? Uh, this is a little awkward for me, and uh…well, I really hate to interrupt you two during the sermon like this and all, but…umm…you see, the thing is, I’m sitting two rows behind you and your little fondle-fest up here has begun to disturb me in a very deep and permanent way.

I heard you two recently got married. That’s awesome! Seriously, congratulations and all that. I can see that you guys really love each other, and I’m so happy you found one another. I’m just not so sure that God’s house is the most appropriate place to play huggy-bear, kissy-face. I get that it’s intensely painful for you two to be physically separated for even a few seconds. I get it, I really do. It’s called biological addiction, and I feel the same way about my couch. However, my sense of propriety and respect for social norms prevent me from dragging that couch here to the Lord’s living room every Sunday. I wish you two could do the same.

Listen bro, I’m sure tenderly caressing her lower back and running your hand through her silky auburn hair makes you want to worship the Lord more fervently than ever before. And you? I don’t doubt that as you run your finger nails along the contours of his bicep you’re pondering the sovereignty and strength of the Almighty. The problem is, all I’m thinking as I observe this foreplay from my pew is how long its been since my last solid makeout session. It’s been quite awhile, I don’t mind telling you.

It is for that reason that I avoid drive-in movies, and scenic overlooks after dark. I don’t need to be reminded of what I’m not experiencing. And yet here you sit, engaging in some incessant necking and heavy petting (to use the parlance of high school handbooks) as if this was the backseat of your father’s Ford Taurus. Give me a break, would you? I mean, for one hour a week I make an honest attempt to stop thinking about sex, and you two are making that nearly impossible.

We’re not in eighth grade and this isn’t the back row of The Mummy Returns. You know what I’m saying? Go to Starbucks. Go to a public pool. Go to a playground with a swirly slide. There are literally millions of public places where you can canoodle and stare amorously into each others eyes without reproach. Unfortunately for you, the sanctuary of a Protestant church on a Sunday morning is not one of them (I can’t speak to the Catholic situation).

I’m really not trying to be a prude or a buzz-kill or whatever. If you guys have some sort of freaky sanctuary fetish, that’s fine. I’m cool with it. I just don’t care to participate. Maybe come in on a weekday or something. That’s not too much to ask is it? Come in on a Wednesday afternoon and you guys can sit in here giggling and rubbing noses until you pass out. Sound good? Awesome. Good talk. Glad we could do this. Enjoy the rest of your worship experience. I’ll see you guys at Coffee Time after the service.

About the author

Hailing from the great state of Oklahoma, Kent Woodyard was raised in a tepee by an uneducated family of country singers and Native Americans. He taught himself to read by studying a book of knock-knock jokes he found at a cattle auction (thus, his highly refined sense of bourgeois humor). For the last seven years he has been toiling faithfully as "the coolest kid you haven't met yet." He retired from that position the minute you read this. Kent counts Jared Fogle (the guy from the Subway commercials), Keith Olbermann, all the members of Nickelback, and Scar from The Lion King as personal enemies. When Kent grows up, he plans to have enough money to have all these people imprisoned for no reason whatsoever. As of this writing, Kent is acutely interested in the following: weekends, push pops, Disney sing-alongs, Lost discussion boards, widgets, Whoppers (the hamburgers, not the disgusting malt balls), Mongolian throat singers, and the early work of Billy Crystal.

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