I was twelve when I first knew I would grow up to be a Church Lady. Church Ladies wear heels and a nice apron, and politely putter around the kitchen and church social hall during funeral suppers and wedding receptions. They murmur soft greetings, and do magic tricks,  invisibly restocking the butter dish when the pat-to-roll ratio is unbalanced. They know how to get that first piece of cake out of the pan without mushing it. Church Lad...
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