Lying to a priest

Dear Katherine,

I have a confession to make.

I know Anglican priests (you go girl!) don’t take confession, but I’m hoping you’ll find it in your heart to provide absolution.

There’s something I’ve been too mortified to tell you.

The SMS you sent yesterday shocked me to the core. The words were so innocent: “Sorry – we are running late. Elizabeth has a headache.”

But they sent a cold shiver through my heart … because I’d forgotten inviting you to dinner.

I was about to serve the kids some Latina ravioli before hitting the local Westfield for its VIP shopping night with my sister.

The realisation that I was actually supposed to be hosting a dinner party for eight people in 10 minutes time was fairly harrowing.  I said the “f” word a lot.

Then I shakily tapped out a faux-cheery reply: “Sure, see u soon.”

I did a frantic inventory of the grocery items remaining in the house – they came up wanting, especially in light of your daughter having recently become vegetarian.

I said the “f” word some more. I may have also taken the Lord’s name in vain. Can I be absolved for that too?

I vaguely remembered having promised you spinach & paneer curry with roast chicken. But there was no time for that sort of faffing, though in retrospect it may have been faster and less fussy than the route I chose.

Taking my cue from the kids’ Latina ravioli, I decided on an Italian theme – smoked salmon pasta for the omnivores and a completely untest recipe of kale and mushroom pasta for the vegetarian (Husband later described it as “very healthy tasting”, which doesn’t sound like a compliment).

I told the Sprogs to play on the computer while I made a wild dash to the local supermarket for cheese, bikkies, Perrier, bread, pasta, strawberries and ice-cream.

Fortunately I’d already done a Dan Murphy’s run earlier in the day and had also started tidying the house in preparation for the cleaner’s arrival today. Although I know you’d have understood if the house was a total tip because we share a predilection for domestic disorder (and Doctor Who).

I called my sister as I panicked my way through the supermarket aisles and aborted our VIP Westfield shopping expedition. Fortunately she had a headache (too) and didn’t seem to mind.

Katherine, I wish I could say I’ve never done something so bird-brained before, but that would be a lie. And one shouldn’t lie to female priests that one invites to dinner and then forgets about. Especially when they’re among one’s oldest friends.

So … since you are in the position to give absolution … a few months ago I got a text message from a friend wondering when my husband and I would be arriving at the restaurant … We were in ugg boots and flannelette pyjamas in front of the tellie.

Oops. This is what happens when you get your “this” and your “next” mixed up. I couldn’t get a babysitter on five minutes notice, so she and her husband had dinner without us. I’m still deeply mortified.

But I SWEAR it wasn’t my fault when ANOTHER couple turned up on our doorstep one night for dinner a whole week early … We were in ugg boots and flannelette pyjamas in front of the tellie …

I’m hoping you now understand why I looked so wild-eyed when I opened the front door, as I’d only skidded into the driveway 30 seconds earlier.

And also why dinner was such a disorganised dog’s breakfast. Oh, and my uncharacteristic and excessive mid-week consumption of wine. (Hang on, I thought I wasn’t supposed to lie to female priests.)

I did not deserve that box of Cadbury Favourites you brought.

Love (and abject apologies),


PS Does this retro photograph (above) of you and your adorably cute toddler make amends slightly?

PPS Hmmmmm … Is this like telling someone you cheated on them under the pretence of being honest when it’s actually just to make yourself feel better and they would actually be much better off not knowing?



2 thoughts on “Lying to a priest

  1. Wow. That you even went to the supermarket under those conditions! That’s like the tv show Survivor, but in suburbia. I am impressed.

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