Insult + Injury = Me

I haven't been feeling 100% lately. Kinda sore, scratchy throat, kinda congested chest ("conchested"), tired a lot... Well, tired a lot is really par for the course. But the throat and chest, that's not. I've been treating my sore throat with copious amounts of ice cream, and I've prescribed a wait-and-see policy for the chest. I haven't died yet so my home remedies must be working. But my point is, I'm not feeling real gangbusters right now. So of course it would be now that I would get a phone call from...

DUN DUN DUUUUUUN!

The bishop's secretary.

[Groan!]

For those not familiar with how we Mormons roll, we have no paid clergy; everything is carried out on a volunteer (well, not really volunteer) basis. The bishop heads up his local church group (called a ward), and other people fill in other duties (called callings)--anything from accounting to teaching to writing up the weekly church program. Every job is a calling, every calling is issued from the bishop and his counselors. If the bishop were the head of a major crime syndicate (he's not... probably), the counselors would be his henchmen. The bishop is a very busy man so the counselors do a lot of his dirty work, like scheduling appointments and issuing callings.

That's where the insult comes in. I got that call from the bishop's secretary asking me to come in Sunday and meet with one of the counselors. There's really only one thing it could be for.

A calling.

A calling... A calling... I've gone two blissful years without a calling. It's not so much that I mind having a calling, it's the fear of what the calling could possibly be. The finalists for scariest, most undesired callings are primary teacher or primary presidency (primary is the children's [ages 3-12] organization) or nursery leader (nursery is for children ages 18 months to three years--the diaper and potty training years). Children. Terrify. Me. The bodily fluids! The bodily fluids!!! I've also found children to be quite touchy and unaware of societal restrictions on personal space. I didn't want to say it before, but I suspect my current ailment traces back to my three-year-old niece. She's cute as a button, which is her sickness germs' greatest weapon in their offensive arsenal. She's so adorable my sister kisses and hugs her. The germs stick to my sister who breathes them on to me. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this. Now, imagine being in a small church room with THIRTY sick three-year-olds! It would be a miracle if I came out alive, or even with a functioning kidney. Fingers crossed I don't get called to the primary or nursery! Eep!

You know what calling I'd really like? I want to type up the weekly church bulletin. I can't think of a better calling. I'd know all the latest poop going on in the ward, and I'd make sure those bulletins were 100% typo-free. It would be awesome. Kid-free and not a lot of time involved. That's the calling for me.

But I think that's probably too much to hope for. Now, everybody cross your fingers and/or pray that I get single adult rep again. It's a cop-out calling they give to single people they don't know what to do with, but at least I wouldn't have to do much.

Until Sunday, I'll assume the worst.