We spent the weekend at Nanny's house and visiting other relatives who live nearby (her house was located where "the trailer" now sits.) On Sunday morning, we all got dressed up and went to the little country church. Actually, we went to the "in town" church. There is actually a smaller, more countryish church further out of town. I was wearing my new feed sack dress. I am not making this up. My mom had sewed for weeks on this thing and I LOVED it. It was just fabric printed to look like feed sack, you understand. Not with flowers like real feed sack dresses, but with the label of the feed sack all over it. Which in depression era times, folks would have only used for underwear. But I wasn't aiming to be historically correct. I was aiming to be cool. You know, like the folks with farm animals in their kitchen.
So at this church, when they pass around the communion trays during the Lord's Supper, you are supposed to take your little cup of grape juice and pass the tray on. Then you drink the juice and put the cup in a little holder on the back of the pew next to the song book rack. Kind of like this picture, except there was nothing under the communion cups on the pews where we were sitting--they just hang there in the hole.
Anyway, this is different from how our church does it so we were all bumping each other to remind one another to pass the tray and keep the cup and S looked down at his cup and there was an eyelash floating in the grape juice. EW!!! He shuddered and put the whole cup, juice and eyelash intact, in the cup holder on the pew. Then we went on with church.
When it came time for the sermon, someone reached down to get their Bible off the floor and bumped that juice cup up out of the holder and STRAIGHT ONTO MY NEW FEED SACK DRESS!!!!
I spent the rest of church back in the little bathroom scrubbing my dress with those brown paper towels that are resistant to water. There were only like 400 spots of grape juice on my dress. My mom came back to check on me and I thought she was going to be sick. She did save the dress, by the way. Every spot was out after she worked on it at home.
There really isn't a moral to this story. And despite the grape juice stains, S married me even AFTER he had met the whole crazy family. So I suppose the weekend was a success after all.