Quality control, and why it's important...

You're expecting a numbered list, aren't you?

Prepare for disappointment. Instead I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, on a quiet Sunday afternoon after we had lunched and The Len had enjoyed his obligatory Sunday nap, we prepared ourselves to leave for our afternoon worship service. Part of this preparation involves removing any cat hair or lint that may have clung to our clothes.

Enter the 3M magic lint roller - perhaps the best lint roller in all the land.

This particular Sunday, however, Ye Olde Lint Roller was less than cooperative. Instead of simply removing stray hair and lint, he insisted on unravelling completely a number of times. Being the entirely calm, cool-headed and patient person that I am, I did not slam Ye Olde Lint Roller against the dining room table in frustration. I simply rolled it back up and continued on my lint-removing way.

Off we went to church. Since we were on the ushering schedule, I went to our bench, dropped my purse and coat and went to stand by the door with an armful of bulletins and my best, most welcoming smile.

The pastor arrived and stepped briefly into his office, right near the sanctuary door I was standing in. Suddenly, he reappeared and headed towards me. It should have occured to me that his smile was a bit odd, but I didn't. Shame on me.

I nodded and smiled politely to him as he approached. And then my heart stopped.

'Um, Thelma...' he said, obviously uncomfortable, 'You have something stuck to your, erhhmm, pants.'

Naturally, I did what anyone would do in that situation: I smacked my hand against my behind to locate the offending 'something stuck' and gasped as quietly as I could.

The pastor smiled politely. 'I thought you'd like to know,' he added.

To make matters worse, an elder popped his head into the hallway to add, 'I was wondering if you were going to say something, or whether I was going to have to!'

Awesome.

In an effort to minimize the embarassment, I unceremoniously yanked at the offending lint roller sheet that was crumpled and stuck to my behind. The sheet obliged me by coming away with a satisfactory riiiiip. I bunched it up while muttering angrily under my breath and jammed it into my pocket.

Later, as I slipped into our pew at the start of the first song, I tugged the crumped sheet out of my pocket and thrust it into The Len's hand. He examined it quickly and raised an eyebrow, requiring explanation.

'It was on my butt,' I hissed fiercely.

He started to grin.

'And the minister saw it first!'

His shoulders shook with silent mirth throughout the whole first song.

And that, my friends, is why quality control is important.