Here's an excerpt from the book:
As soon as Ann walked up to me from behind and placed her right hand on my left shoulder, I knew that something was wrong. It was not clairvoyance; I just knew that Ann would never walk up to me in the middle of a Sunday service and place her right hand on my shoulder. It was not her style, period.
Bending down until her lips were just an inch close to my right ear, she whispered, “Reverend, they need you outside.” I turned around and looked at her in surprise.
“Right now?” I asked, forcing myself not to raise my voice.
“Yes, right now.” Ann replied. Her face was expressionless, but I knew she was not going to take no for an answer.
“But I can’t go out now,” I said. “I am about to preach in a few minutes.”
“Reverend, they really need you outside.”
At home it was always honey bunny, lollipop, or sweetie-pie, but in the church Ann made it a point of duty to always address me by my ecclesiastical title. I loved it that way, because it shows that she respects my divine calling as a pastor. I have a friend who is a reverend; his wife doesn’t respect him at all when they are in church. I have seen her hand him a grocery list right there in the church, in front of his flocks. Sometimes she nags and scolds him right in front of the people. Ann was different; at home she let me know that I was a mortal man who puts on his pants one leg at a time, but in the church she respects me as her pastor.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I can’t leave now and you know that.”
“We have a serious situation outside, in the parking lot.” Ann whispered.
“Can’t it wait until after the service?” I asked.
“I don’t think so, Reverend,” she said, shaking her head. “This is really serious.”
I sighed and got up. “Tell the choir to continue singing until I return.” Turning around, I headed for the door. After all these years of being married to Ann, I have learned that she was a woman with a very sharp, analytical mind. If she looks at a situation and says it is serious, there is a hundred percent chance it is.
I came outside the church and looked across the street towards our parking lot; the sight I saw stopped me in my tracks. A wild looking short woman, dressed in a mini-skirt that was way too small for her size, was pacing around in circles, talking animatedly. I could not hear what she was saying, but from the way she was flailing her hands and gesturing frenetically, I could tell that she was really ticked off. Each time she lifted her hands, her mini-skirt rode further up her thick legs, exposing more skin than was necessary.
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