St. Lucius the Flatulent

My sister lives in Connecticut, in a gated community that makes Wisteria Lane look like Dogpatch. The stories she tells about the very rich, very drunk ladies whose husbands abandon them (and their ADD children) in sprawling summer residences make me glad that I'm a year-round resident of Smalltown, USA.

The most recent such tale involved a drunken 40th birthday party, and an adult game of Truth or Dare that mostly centered around the ability and/or willingness of the Community wives to engage in fellatio with their sex-obsessed husbands. At the end of the evening, the menfolk were busily congratulating my brother-in-law and expressing their jealousy. You can guess why.

When sis related the tale in her usual isn't-that-just-so-funny? way, my jaw hit the floor. "Cheese Whiz," I told my sister, as our five kids ran around at our feet, "you're about two seconds from a key party." It took her a minute, but my 35 year-old sib finally took my meaning. "Is that a swinger thing?"

Where, for the love of all that is good and holy, did I go wrong with this kid?

And then it hit me. Even though my kid sister has recently converted to Judaism, and worships at a lovely Temple in another town, the rest of the Community spends Sunday mornings on bended knee at the town's biggest Catholic hot spot: St. Edward the Confessor. And what they don't tell good old St. Edward, they apparently reveal to each other over Merlot and shrimp cocktail.

So I'm thinking of making a petition to re-name the sanctuary to something that is more reflective of the zeitgeist in this little sex-charged suburb. Maybe you all could help? So far I just have a few:

St. Gene the Wart-Ridden
St. Angus the Lecherous
St. Maynard the Intoxicated
St. Cleve the Wife-Swapper

Irreverent much? You bet your sweet rosary ...