"I don't feel comfortable talkin' to you…"-Kings Of Leon

Ring-ring

?? Nobody calls me….

Ring-ring.

Huh..? I rub the handset against my sweatshirt to find the "talk" key; the only button not burried beneath the dust of un-use is the memory button for the pizza boy.

Ring-ring.

Probably should answer that-"Hello?"

"Robert?" I run The Terminator checklist for appropriate replies. "Fu-" no, not that one.

"Yes?"

"Hi, this is Francine from church…"

Francine? I don't know a Francine…Francine continues to explain that I don't know her, but that she's part of the welcoming committee. She want's to make sure I'm coming to church this weekend so they can welcome me.

I've attended service there for close to 2 years now. I decided I should be a sheep, be social, and join the fold. So, this Sunday, they're holding a folding ceremony to introduce me to the congregation. I find folding ceremonies much more welcoming than hanging ceremonies. Francine doesn't have a preference. She just wants to be sure I attend either way. There's nothing more embarrassed by throwing a welcoming ceremony for a person too antisocial to show up.

I rest her fears. I'll be attending.

"Late service?"

Only if you want me to attend…"Yes." Most Lutherans don't share my taste for sarcasm. They apparently have a lot of welcome questions though. Francine's working down the list now. Whatever happened to a simple "Howdy" and a handshake?

Francine also makes sure I know there will be a small luncheon for everybody who's joining the church, after the late service. She wants me to know I'm welcome to attend. Now I know.

"Will you attend?"

"Sure."

"How many will be with you?"

"Just me."

Silence. "Uhm, so, uhm, MyUnwife won't be attending?"

Oh...nobody's given Francine the updated bio-sheet. Poor Francine. I'm sorry to do this to you, "No, she won't. MyUnwife is divorcing me."

See, here is where MyUnwife would ask "why did you tell her? They don't need to know that." I am the king of dispensing "unnecessary" information like an impact lawn sprinkler. She always hated that. Still, in this case there is a reason. I'm making things easy for both Francine and MyUnwife. I care. Francine sounds like she's going to ask questions until she gets everything anyway. I suck at bluffing. I'll just show her my hand now; Francine can decide how she wants to bet the next round. MyUnwife should thank me. My words glorify her, and move the action to her. "She's divorcing me." MyUnwife is whole. I'm the faulty part. I'm the weakest link. Goodbye.

"uhm.." Apparently my information shower has dowsed Francine's friendly fire.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make this uncomfortable." More water?

"No. No. So the luncheon will be in the fellowship hall…"Now Francine is more uncomfortable, and possibly embarrassed. I'm on a limb here, but I think this will be the last time Francine calls.

The cordial welcomes turn into goodbyes, and I hang up. Replaying the exchange in my head, I catch something: Francine may have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. In the past, these "MyUnwife doesn't live here anymore" conversations have been really awkward. Today it was just like reading the weather report from the newspaper aloud. "This is what today is like: Hazy-lazy, no chance of MyUnwife peeking out." Yeah, I know, I keep thinking they'll fire that weather guy but people seem to like him.

Me? Well the dust will settle on my phone again, I'll officially join my church, and life will go on, the same as it has every day before—just a little less awkward.