34 | QSALTLAKE MAGAZINE | FINAL WORD
Qsaltlake.com | Issue 326 | August, 2021
the perils of petunia pap smear
The tale of primary colors BY PETUNIA PAP SMEAR
The road
to winning the lottery is fraught with danger and excitement. Having grown up LDS in a 100 percent Mormon town in Idaho (I was at least 15 years old before I even met my first non-Mormon) learning all the church primary children’s songs was just a natural part of growing up. There is a primary song that teaches you how to behave in almost any situation you might find yourself in. As I technically became an adult (though I refuse to grow up), I learned to adapt and miss-appropriate all those cute songs to fit my contemporary situations. These days, however, whenever I’m attending church, I automatically revert to being an 8-yearold kid, sitting in a primary meeting and silently singing to myself all the children’s songs that taught me how to behave, trying desperately to look invisible and hide behind a hymn book when the teacher is looking for someone to give a two-and-ahalf-minute talk. Recently, there I was, in church, sitting “reverently and quietly” (because that’s how the primary song taught me to act), trying ever so hard to stay awake and listen to the sermon, just in case the pastor might give me a pop quiz on my way out. It’s in these types of situations that I really appreciate the true value of having a cell phone to distract and help keep me from creating a loud and humiliating “snoring in church” spectacle.
I HAVE TWO LITTLE HANDS
I have two bejeweled hands, folded snugly and tight. They are wrapped ’round my phone, and they play what is right. During all the long hours till the sermon is through, There are plenty games for my two hands to do. Suddenly, my phone began chirping an alarm. I frantically tried to silence it. I glanced around innocently, as everyone else in the chapel was looking around to see who the offender was. After some discrete and frantic fumbling, I was able to put the phone on vibrate and slide it into my pocket. I pasted a puzzled ‘I don’t even
know what a cell phone is’ expression on my face in case anyone suspected me. But the alarm kept vibrating and vibrating, and since it was now in my front pocket, these continuous pulsations were soon going to cause an entirely different kind of embarrassment. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Altogether not appropriate for church. I fumbled it back out of my pocket and covertly observed what the alarm was about. The Power Ball lottery was up to $500 million. Oh! My! God! I gotta go! After a very hasty and, I must confess, insincere “amen,” I rushed out of the church, jumped into Queertanic, and pointed her towards Pocatello, Idaho. Singing with glee as I drove northward towards the land of my pioneer ancestors.
HANDCART SONG For some must push and some must pull As we go driving to “Ida’s-hole” So merrily on our way we go Until we reach “Po-ca-fell-o.” Instead of going all the way to Pocatello though, I ended up getting off the freeway in Malad, because I was hungry and needed to pee. “Poky” was just too far. I stopped at the largest convenience store near the freeway and rushed into the restroom to “recycle” my Diet Mt. Dew.
GIVE SAID THE LITTLE STREAM Spray said the yellow stream, spray oh pray, spray oh spray Spray said the yellow stream, as it landed in the bowl. I’m small I know but if I don’t go, this queen grows moister still Spraying, spraying all the day, spray away oh spray away Spaying, spraying all the day, spray Mountain Dew away… With that immediate need having been met, and a great sigh of relief, I took just a moment to scope out the cashier situation. There were six registers open. Two were staffed by a couple of Wicked Witch of the West types. Next to them were two more silly giggly cheer-leader types. Next was a scary battle ax named Flo. She looked worse than I do after a hard night of drag bingo. At the very far end of the counter, stood a
tall, dark and handsome drink of water who at first glance took my breath away. Fortune smiled upon me, and Mr. Perfect beckoned me to his register. His name tag said “Blaze.” Be still my beating heart. He smiled, and asked, ”How can I help you?” I could have sworn that a glint of light sparkled off his teeth as he smiled. I nearly swooned. I was so enthralled by his good looks I forgot why I was there. Flustered and embarrassed, I ordered two Powerball tickets and two corn dogs. He winked at me with a “come hither, I know where you’re going to put these corn dogs” look as he handed the delicious phallic objects to me. I made extra sure that my hand grazed his during the transfer. Deep throating a corn dog, I happily made my way to the car, singing…
I HOPE THEY CALL ME ON A MISSION I hope I win the Pow-er Ball, when they have drawn a ball or two. I hope by then I will be ready, to shop and eat and trip like lot’ry winners do… After nearly choking on a corn dog, I beat a hasty retreat to Salt Lake. This story leaves us with several important questions: 1. Should I begin carrying my phone in a soundproof purse? 2. Should I begin to teach classes on the extracurricular pleasures of the vibrate function on phones? 3. Am I obligated to clear the copyrights to the primary songs with the church? 4. Should I sneak into a Mormon church house and become a primary teacher? 5. Could Drag Queen Primary become a new trendy thing? 6. Is mustard a good enough lube for corn dog insertion? These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear. Q
7pm, most third Fridays First Baptist Church, 777 S 1300 E fb.me/matronsofmayhem
