Since I sit on the front row, I am close enough to read lips. The lips of the speakers who just so happened to be sitting behind the singers. There were three speakers- a husband and wife and then another woman (sans husband). The wives sat shoulder to shoulder, while the husband chilled on the aisle seat.
As the duetists were adding their voices to the angels, I noticed as the speaker sans husband whispered something to the speaker with husband. Intrigued, I watched as she mouthed, "... her shoe." And all three speakers' heads turned as one to view the shoe. And their faces mirrored amusement, although sending a little nervousness out into the congregation.
Instantly I was hooked. (Remember, nothing gets past me- observant to a fault) Of course, I couldn't see the singer's shoe. Even though I sit on the front row.
So many options danced through my head- such as, but not limited to:
- the singer is wearing mismatched shoes
- the singer is wearing her husband's shoes
- the singer is wearing no shoes
- the singer- wait, which singer? there are two up there...
- the singer's heel just broke on her shoe
- the singer is standing on the other singer's shoe- I wonder which one is getting their shoe stood on
- the singer is wearing golf shoes
- the singer's shoe just broke through the floor
- the singer's shoe just fell in the little cabinet that houses the stool that the kids stand on when they bear their testimonies
So as not to miss out on what was going on with the shoe, I arranged my children so that I would be able to pay full, undivided attention to the singers' shoes as soon as they made their way back to the congregation.
I passed out books and stickers. And the children were taken care of before the last note was sung. And I was in position to scope out the shoes.
The women marched single file down the stairs, slow motion. Thanks, ladies for playing into my plan, and not crowding out each other's shoes. And then, everything sped up- like dramatically. And both ladies were down the stairs. And I saw their shoes. And they both had on a matching pair. And both contained all parts of their heels. And all four shoes were white. And neither pair were golf shoes.
It did not compute. I just could not piece together what had happened up there. So I looked to the speakers for help. And they seemed to be unfazed by the singers, who had gracefully made their exit. But, they were still fazed by something. And I could see that their eyes were still trained on the spot where the singers had stood and sung their (un)forgettable song. (forgettable only because I couldn't remember exactly what they sang. but how they sang was truly unforgettable- it was beautiful.)
And then, seeking answers, my attention turned to the bishop and his hot counselor and the looks on their faces. I watched as the bishop scooted forward on his seat, bent forward and scooted something on the floor and then sat back in his seat, satisfied. While his hot counselor grinned and the speakers were all smiles.
And the speaker's husband stood and delivered his message.
When the hot counselor returned home from his meetings at the end of the day, you can bet the first question out of my mouth was, "What was going on with the singers' shoes?"
To which he responded, "What?"
And I recounted the story.
And he laughed.
And unfolded to me what was really going on behind the singers. He reported that due to the heroic actions of our brave bishop, the father of our ward, our ward building was down one ginormous cockroach.
Way to go bishop. Thank you for protecting us.
(and, thank goodness I sit on the front row! Just think of the stories I would have if I sat even just a few rows back. Not to mention if I sat in the way back!!)
And, don't forget to order your Time Out for Women tickets. Click on the link at the top of the sidebar. You'll be glad you did. Awesome event planned for this year!
Plus, I am intrigued by this new show FlashForward that ABC has coming out in the fall. You got me interested, ABC. I hope you deliver. But don't deliver the filth- just a good, clean intriguing plot. Pretty please?