Awkward: I’m A Saint Who Went Marching In Too Early
Let’s address the elephant in the room. Yes, I am a Saint. No, I didn’t ask to be a Saint, and honestly, I don’t think you’re allowed to be one if you ask. Once you’ve been deemed a Saint, you kinda just have to go with it. I mean, my parents would have KILLED me if I had said no. So, yeah, here I am… a Saint.
It all started when the Saints and I were told we were gonna go marching in. We were used to this sort of thing. We march in probably once a week. When the day came, it was very cold and gray. We had been waiting to march for around four hours. Nobody should have to wait that long to march. All the other times we’d gone marching, we’ve only waited a few minutes. We weren’t even provided with any warm jackets to wear. I don’t mean to gripe, being a Saint is great. People look up to me. Well, at least I think they do. Do they? Sorry, I just don’t get the opportunity to complain with my Saints very often.
Listen. I’ve gone marching in with my Saints numerous times, but this time was different. I usually get there a few minutes after the designated meeting time to solidify my favorite spot in line. Whether it’s yoga or a march, I always go to the middle-back. This is so I can watch everyone ahead of me do it, but also the bad people in the back can see me and feel better about themselves. This time, I was the last Saint to arrive. My heavenly body was bravely put at the front line. It was a lot of pressure on me. I couldn’t follow the leader; I was the leader.
That’s when I realized: Oh, my God (we’re on a first-name basis now), had we been here for 4 hours just because I hadn’t started marching yet? Has everyone been waiting for me? I turned and looked at the rest of the Saints, all in their marching positions, ready to go. I thought to myself, “You’re a Saint, dammit. Get goin’! There’s no time to waste!” I confidently stuck my blessed right leg out and began marching.
Boy, oh boy, did it feel good to finally go marching in. The crisp wind whipping past my face; the straightness of my limbs thrusting the air. You don’t know the feeling until you’ve done it.
I was on cloud 9 until I noticed the familiar melody of the other Saints’ feet hitting the ground was missing. I thought: do I dare look behind me and mess up the beauty of everyone’s forward-looking faces? So I kept marching. Saints DON’T mess up.
I proudly marched with my chin up for about 5 minutes until I heard the trumpet sounding from behind me. I looked back and saw the trumpeter hustling to the front, sweating ferociously. I completely forgot about the trumpeter! I guess I never considered that the trumpeter cued the Saints. I assumed the Saints cued the trumpeter to trumpet. All the Saints were marching in. I was way ahead of them. I was shocked they’d begun to march without me. But I suppose I’d begun to march without any of them, too. I was deeply embarrassed. I’ve had a literal eternity to perfect this. How could a holy, pious Saint, the most perfect people to ever exist, have messed up this badly?
All I wanted was to be in that number with the rest of the Saints. I panicked. I knew I had to fix this. I turned back around and shyly marched in place for a few minutes, which no other Saint has ever done before. They finally caught up and we marched forward. I apologized to the Saints near me: Pontius, Antipas, and Kyle. They say Saints are forgiving, but damn, they’ll make you work for it. They laughed at me, which was interesting, because Antipas is the patron Saint of Dentists, so what does he know? I knew they would get a firm smiting from God for that, so all was well again. We went marching in, and boy, did we go in.
Word of advice: if you’re a Saint, and you’re about to go marching in, make sure you’re in the middle-back of the line, so you don’t embarrass yourself like me. Also, if you’re looking to become a Saint, please, no cold emails. Get an agent or solve world hunger like everybody else.
