When was the last time you received the Come Hither Finger? To give you a better idea of what I mean, let me tell you a story.
It was a bright, sunny Sunday morning. The birds were singing, the sky was blue and filled with puffy white clouds, and a gentle breeze stirred the trees.
I had reached my early teenage years, and was seated on that lovely morning by myself in the front row at church.
My Aunt (who was my legal guardian and, for all intents and purposes, my mother) was one of the pastors of our little church. Yes, I was a “preacher's kid.” And on that morning, my aunt was seated on the platform behind the pulpit, from which vantage point she could see me quite well.
Part way through the service, my sugary breakfast kicked in, and my behavior began to … deteriorate.
A stern look from my Aunt corrected the situation. It was reminiscent of Saturday Night Live's “Church Lady,” as though something were pulling her entire face to one side …
Approximately three minutes and forty-five seconds later, the excess glucose in my bloodstream finally overpowered my better judgment, and the aforementioned deterioration continued.
The next look I received from behind the pulpit filled my heart with fear. The Church Lady's face had changed. Both sides were now collapsed, her brow was furrowed and her mouth was the size and shape of a marble.
Instantly I was in control of my behavior once again.
One minute and thirty-seven seconds later, I learned a valuable lesson in biochemistry. It seems that the combination of adolescent hormones and an elevated blood sugar level is a powerful force indeed. Willpower was unfortunately no match for this universal law, and my delinquency resumed with a passion.
To the right of the pulpit was the choir loft, in full view of the congregation. The loft was now empty, since the musical portion of the service had concluded.
The event that I now describe to you will accompany me to my grave.
For some unknown reason, and against my better judgment, I made the fatal mistake of looking up at my Aunt once again, and to my dismay I was given the Come Hither Finger. It commanded me, silently but oh-so-firmly, to get up out of my seat — in the middle of the service — and approach the platform.
The fear in my heart quickly gave way to abject terror, because as I approached, the Come Hither Finger transformed itself into the Pointing Finger of Doom. Imagine, if you can, the utter humiliation experienced by an adolescent human male being forced to sit, by himself, facing an entire congregation of friends and fellow worshippers, in the middle of an empty choir loft.
Dear reader, I beg of you, I plead with you, please — heed the advice of someone with painful, first-hand experience:
- join a monastery
- start wearing completely non-transparent sunglasses 24 hours a day
- get a lifetime prescription for Prozac
In short, do everything and anything you possibly can and pay any price to avoid the Come Hither Finger!
