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A Louisiana grandmother sat in the aisle seat located on the right side halfway between the front and back rows of her small Baptist church. That morning the preacher was cranked up about venal personal sins.
"All of you that are drinking beer are in danger of hellfire!" he roared.
"Amen!" Grandma shouted back, glancing over at Grandpa.
"And all of you who are drinking that moonshine whiskey that Tolley O'Flaherty sells out of the still behind his barn are preparing your souls for eternal damnation!" he shouted. Scattered hands went up across the congregation.
Grandma turned a sharp look at Grandpa and in a level voice fraught with meaning responded with a ladylike growl. "Amen brother. Preach it!"
"And all of you brothers wasting your money smoking cigarettes, cigars and chewing tobacco have fallen into Satan's trap!" the pastor soldiered on down his list of condemnations of sin. A goodly assortment of female hands went up.
"AMEN!" shouted Grandma tottering to her feet and shaking her fist. "You tell 'em, Reverend!" she croaked.
Finally the preacher fixed a stern eye upon the rest of the huddled parishioners. "And don't you dare let the Lord catch you dipping snuff!" A gasp ran through the crowd.
Grandma sat down abruptly, apparently stunned. She looked around at her friends and neighbors, about half of them nodding in agreement and the other half frowning along with the whiskey drinkers and cigar smokers.
"Hmmph," Grandma shook her head disapprovingly and turned to Grandpa, "Preacher's done stopped preaching and done started meddlin'.
© 2004 by Tom King (from a story told me by a friend)
