Bag head. . . or cheese head?

Wednesday night, our pastor had asked the youth pastor to preach to the adults.  Since he had prepared to minister to the youth that night, he had the youth sit in the adult service, and since the youth were with us, he decided to do the adult Bible study like he had planned to do the youth service, complete with a fun “ice breaker.”

Pastor Pete was carrying a Wal-Mart bag, the contents of which I could not discern (always scary), and he asked for two volunteers, saying that they didn’t have to be youth. I hate sitting on the front row, and I had plunked my stuff down on the second row, as is my custom, but when I came scurrying to my seat at 7:00:37 PM, Scott had moved our stuff to the front row; I think to let someone else’s family fit where we would have been. Anyway, there I sat on the front row, right under Pastor Pete’s nose as he asked for volunteers.  Since I couldn’t see if anyone behind me was raising his hand, and since I didn’t want to turn around to check, and since it seemed to be taking a while to recruit those two innocents, I raised my hand and was selected, as was my friend, Judy.

As we walked to the front, I asked Pastor Pete if we would have to do anything athletic for this ice breaker.  “No.”  Well, at least that was a relief!

He produced two additional Wal-Mart bags, which we were to tie onto our respective heads, enclosing as much of our hair as possible.  We did that, with the help of a couple of the youth, who snugged the bags on to our heads and squished out as much of the poofy air as possible.  Pastor Pete them produced two cans of whipped cream.  After aiming a significantly-sized squirt into his own mouth to confirm the quality thereof, he handed the cans to Abi and Jerry (his youth assistants), who then squirted whipped cream all over our heads.  It felt pretty good.

Then Abi and Jerry were handed bags of cheetos (puffy, not crunchy), which they would be tossing at us from some ten feet away.  The goal was to see which of us could catch the most cheetos on our cream covered craniums.  This was clearly going to be fun!

It should be noted here that our sanctuary was recently re-carpeted, and we are all quite fond of that carpet.  We have been FIRMLY instructed to NEVER slide anything (chairs, tables, small children) on the carpet, lest we snag, mark, or otherwise damage it, so when Pastor Pete’s wife saw him pull out the whipped cream, she called out, “That’s oily!  You need a drop cloth!”  He didn’t feel as deeply about that matter as she did, but she ran to get a tarp.  In the meantime. . .

Jerry began tossing cheetos at my head.  Now, I had assumed that the key to success would lie in successfully accommodating the angle of descent.  If the cheeto were coming in primarily vertically, it seemed to me it would land in the thicker cream on top (and thus stick), but if it came in primarily horizontally, it might tend to bounce off the thinner side cream.  Hence I was chose to step forward and back and do knee bends and neck scoops, in a constant attempt to get under the incoming missiles. Judy, on the other hand, closed her eyes and stood still.

As the first cheeto, approached (while Pete’s wife was high-tailing it to the supply closet for a tarp), I observed its trajectory, bent my knees, scooped my neck, and heard the congregation gasp in horror as I dropped a huge blop of whipped cream onto the carpet in front of me.  Oh, boy!  What would Pastor Barb say?  I was in deep doo-doo now!  “Oh, well,” I figured.  “If I’ve already flopped a greasy stain on the carpet, how much worse can it get?”  Actually, quite a bit.  There were soon many plops of whipped cream to avoid stepping in.  There were also dozens of cheetos around our feet, so that I was soon doing what could only be described as, perhaps, an interpretive dance routine (?), in my attempt to avoid grinding those into the carpet, as well.  Honest, Pastor Barb, I really didn’t want turn the white stains into bright orange ones!


As you can see, I completely lost the competition, but we all had fun, and that was the point.  = )

P.S.  Pastor Pete scrubbed the whipped cream out of the carpet while Judy and I were cleaning up in the ladies room.  He also vacuumed up all the stray cheetos, and the only thing left for me to do after church was return the still-folded blue tarp to its rightful station in the supply closet.


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