I was over at a parishioner family's house on Saturday, talking with them about baptism as we prepare for their twins' baptism next weekend. (I am trying not to think about the fact that I will actually be doing that next weekend; if I think on it too much it begins to freak me out and I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach Moses surely had as he unstrapped his sandals.) It was a good and humorous occassion. The questions I had for the parents and the godparents were actually better answered by the 6 1/2 year old and the 4 year old, but I didn't work up the courage to ask if Mom and Dad were taking notes.
At the end of the conversation, the 6 1/2 year old little girl scratched my collar and asked, "Is this your church shirt?" I smiled and said, "Yes." She then pointed to my jeans (hey, it was Saturday!) and declared accusingly, "...but those aren't your church pants!"
"No, m'dear, these are my Saturday pants."
I was rewarded for all this by a hug from the 6 1/2 year old this morning at the parish picnic.
This is one thing I love about Montana-- my "Saturday pants" often appear Monday through Friday, too. :-)