Last week Grandpa came home from a long day at church with some black mark on his shirt. His Sundays are long days—he leaves early in the morning and usually doesn't come home until around 9:00 PM. He's a bishop for a BYU single's ward, so he's busy. This was our conversation about the shirt:
Karen: What did you do—lean up on something?
Reid: I dunno...but you can lean on me.
Andrew: When you're not strong.
Me: I'll be your friend.
Karen: I'll just spray it and see if it comes out.
Reid, Andrew and I burst out laughing. We had all been expecting her to say "I'll help you carry on" but she hadn't even realized that we were all singing. She was just concerned about getting that white shirt clean. Maybe that doesn't sound too funny when you read it, but if you were there you would know that she said "I'll..." right on pitch so we were sure she was going to sing the next line of the song.
Today Grandpa came home from church and told us that when he had typed up the bulletin he typed the name of one of the hymns wrong. Instead of typing "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" he had typed "Hark, the Herald Angels Sin."
I'm just jealous that their ward sang Christmas carols because ours didn't. And I feel a little gypped because there are only a few weeks left until Christmas. I love Christmas carols but since so many people feel they can't be sung until after Thanksgiving it leaves very little time to get them sung.
It's after Thanksgiving now—we've just lost a whole week of valid Christmas caroling.