If you have a group of children who need a saint costume, stat, ask if anyone can lend you some red lip gloss.
In the hands of a skilled teenager, you can have a company of martyrs of the French Revolution in no time at all. Hint: A white t-shirt is maybe not the best combination, when you are going for the freshly-decapitated look. Thank goodness for bleach.
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Of course for pure All-Hallow’s-Eve report-giving pleasure, you want a martyr of the Roman Empire. No really: When she said about how they pulled out her teeth one by one, that was the toned-down version.
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Catholic mom negotiating tactics, as heard at my house: If you, precious child, will do for me the thing I want you to do but really can’t force you to do, then I, your mother, will find you a saint who is both obscure and disgusting, so that you can shock and confound all your friends during the saint guessing-game at the party.
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You haven’t lived until you’ve trolled Butler’s Lives for gore and got to call it “school.”
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But c’mon: There was a fight breaking out among the kids over St. Lucy’s eyeball, which kept being tossed about during reports after sweet little angel-faced Lucy sat down. It’s just part of the childhood memories.
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Harvest festival? We don’t need no stinkin’ harvest festival. This is what it means to be Catholic: God gave us guts for a reason, and one way or another, we intend to use them.
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