Dearest friends,
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Ash Wednesday rolled into one. Does it get bigger?
Even with the power of Google, I don’t know the significance of Ash Wednesday. I believe, though, that the ashes are Jesus’ (and the forehead is yours). Valentine’s Day, well, it has something to do with love.
Ash Wednesday holds a special place in my heart as the protagonist in a story of how religiously unaware I was in college—and apparently still am.
I'm in Italian class at Boston University, and my teacher calls on the woman beside me. I look over, and to my dismay, this poor woman has shit all over her face—blissfully unaware of how stupid she looks.
I like my Italian teacher a lot, but I’m disappointed. She’s choosing pride over saving this woman's soul from utter embarrassment. Imagine the worst "broccoli in your teeth" moment, and nobody says a word.
After class, we all file onto Comm Ave., and I notice several, if not dozens, of people with shit on their faces. Something is up—it turns out that Ash Wednesday is up, and I’m the dummy.
At 77 I still don’t know what Ash Wednesday is; and decided long ago I didn’t need to. Ashes to ashes anyways. M
“Shit on her face” is sooo good. As a product of 12 years of Catholic education, all I can say is that I felt so holy and “proving I was a sanctimonious person, sure to enter heaven” because the proof was on my forehead. JFC