Transcript of Proceedings
(transcribed by Mrs. Peggy McNamara, C.S.P.) 
[Attending and participating: Sister Taffy Crockett (Chair), Mrs. Judy O’Christian (Co-Chair), Mrs. Heather Hardwick (Secretary), Mrs. Betty Bowers (Speaker Emeritus)] (3:07 p.m.) 

Taffy: Ladies, enough jabbering. Let’s get started. Judy, do you have that machine on yet? I really want to make sure we have the whole meeting this time. 

Betty: Yes, the last few transcripts were appallingly abridged. And I was quite clear in telling you that my Jewish accountant was emphatic that if I am billing the church $645 an hour for charitable services, I need a record of every minute of my selfless time. 

Judy: Don’t worry girls. Sarah Lou told me to push the R-E-C button which I did just a second ago. All this modern technology is awfully confusing. Now I know why Jesus went and had Himself killed 2,000 years ago.

Betty: Heather, dear, kindly put down that ostrich drumstick for a moment. Honestly, the fervent sounds of your ravenous mastication at the last meeting rendered half the tape completely unintelligible. 

Taffy: Yes, Heather, Peggy said it was impossible to transcribe accurately with all of your sloppy slurping sounds. 

Heather: Taffy, I’m sure nothing important was missed. I make a special point to eat only while you are talking, hon. 

Betty: Well, when I listened to the tape on my way home on the Gulfstream, it sounded as if someone had thrown a newborn infant into a pack of pit bulls every four minutes. 

Judy: Heather, let’s get the ball rolling on this here meeting. I have a whole kitchen full of boiling watermelon rinds waiting for me to put up when I get home. I’m going to be filling mason jars till sundown. I bought a gross.

Betty: What a perfect choice for your pickled rinds, dear.

Taffy: Heather, why don’t you read the minutes, such as they are, from last week’s meeting?

Heather: Now, just let me finish pouring a piping hot cup of decaf Nescafe. Where is that carafe of heavy Belgium cream? All right, last meeting was held March 5th and started at promptly 3:00 p.m. It was Betty’s turn to bring the refreshments, and she brought some scrumptious blood orange petit fours her ministry pastry chef had whipped up in New York. They were beyond yummy. Now, according to my minutes, Betty very meanly refused to tell me the secret ingredient in the satin icing that gave them that perfectly piquant quality. 

Betty: Heather, the ingredient is expensive enough without having to contemplate what your voracious enthusiasm for even the most simple of pantry staples would do to its market price, dear.

Heather: Well, even after 40 of those delightful little suckers I had no earthly idea what made them so special. And the stool sample I submitted to the lab came back inconclusive. Betty won’t you please tell me what your man put in them, hon? It’s been keeping me up at night.

Taffy: Darling Heather, could we get on to the substance of the meeting. We really have a lot to discuss. You can reminisce about last week’s grazing later. As we all know, if the price is right, Betty will say anything. Let’s get to the minutes.

Heather: Don’t get your chastity belt in a knot, hon. I was getting to that. Betty made a motion for a resolution to the Landover superintendent insisting that all science texts be burned and replaced with Pastor Deacon Fred’s new Creation Science book. The resolution passed unanimously – well, except for Claire Gordon, who, on a motion from Betty, was immediately removed from the committee. The book burning is scheduled for April 22nd. Ima Jean has promised to make her homemade marshmallows, the ones I swear have cream cheese in the center, though she assures me this is an illusion created by the confectioner’s sugar her family . . . 

Taffy: Heather, please! Could you ignore your appetite for just five minutes so we can get through this? 

Heather: My, my, what a temper! Taffy, I say this with much Christian concern; you really should see a doctor, hon. Your monthly visitor shows all signs of having unpacked, changed the wallpaper and moved in. Honestly, it’s like Pastor was saying the other day, your flow must rival the Ganges, as you’ve been acting like a menstrual shrew for going on seven months now. I was finished reading the minutes and saw no reason not to compliment Ima’s cooking. Just because you can’t participate in the book burning marshmallow roasts because the fire marshal has asked you keep that wig of yours at least 20 feet away from an open flame . . . 

Betty: Ladies, ladies. Enough with the bickering. I have my plane to catch. My pilot knows that I never schedule more than one-hour layovers in this bucolic wasteland you people call Iowa. Besides, I have a fitting with Tom in Manhattan at 6:00. 

Taffy: I’m so sorry, dear. I forgot how traumatic travel can be to a woman of your delicate years. We’ll get back to the meeting, now. And, by all means, let us know if we need to speak louder. 

Betty: Oh, you needn’t trouble yourself, dear. Whether you are piercingly loud or utterly inaudible, the listener is equally edified. 

Heather: Heaven forbid that we should make Betty late to a denture fitting. With all the grinding she does, I’m certain she goes through a set a week. 

Betty: Honestly, girls, if my bathroom mirror were as relentlessly merciless to me as yours, no doubt, are to you every morning, I would probably be inclined to assume that anything on a woman’s face that didn’t cause one to recoil involuntarily must have been purchased, too. Of course, I am not in the least surprised that you dear friends-in-Christ wouldn’t have the slightest idea what a fitting is. Truly, there aren’t enough looms in Malaysia to circumnavigate sweet Heather and, just between us girls, is there a more obvious earmark of prêt-à-porter than the two charming coat hanger dimples that are so inextricably associated with the shoulders of each of Taffy’s several dresses?

Taffy: Speaking of coming off the rack, I would have complimented you on your newer, tighter face when you walked in, Betty, but I didn’t recognize you until you sneered. It’s a wonder that doctor of yours has time to eat – between you and Michael Jackson.

Betty: Oh, that’s rich – coming from a woman with more hair-plugs than a Nicholas Cage – John Travolta movie. Indeed, one would be hard pressed to find a doctor who showed as much futile enthusiasm for his patients outside of Shelley. 

Taffy: Shelly Winters may not still have her own hair but at least she’s going to die with the chest Jesus was expecting to see – unlike some high-and-mighty, insufferable bit--

Judy: Ladies, you know I hate to interfere, but, for goodness sake, please stop the sniping! We’re all sisters-in-Christ, here. Satan is the enemy, not each other! 

Taffy: Honestly, Judy, it seems every time you come up with a batch of those rinds of yours, you wind up dipping into whatever jug holds the moonshine you use to make them and start getting aggressive. 

Betty: I don't know why you can't allow True Christian ladies and dear friends to exchange pleasantries. After all, I only see any of you once a week. That is, of course, by my rather adamant choice. Nevertheless, it does limit my time for the convivial fellowship that so typifies these meetings in Christ’s name. And let’s not forget why we’re here. As I mentioned on the phone, dear Former-Sister-in-Christ Dora Denkins has been spotted. One of my in-house ministry detectives tracked her in the Caribbean at a Club Med. 

Taffy: Club Med? What a common tart. It makes me glad she is no longer associated with our church.

Betty: Exactly. Especially when there is a charming Four Seasons on St. Nevis – to say nothing of my place at St. Barts.

Heather: But at Club Med all the food is included.

Betty: I can only assume that that is speculation on your part, dear. If you had actually graced them with your presence, we would, no doubt, have read about their immediate bankruptcy. Anyway, my detective did some snooping around, and questioned some of the under-aged Jamaican youths in her entourage. He described in vivid detail the perversions she engages in with each of them, but I won’t shock you with the details – or digital photographs of commendable quality. Suffice it to say they are so perverted that no true lady would have heard or read about such acts anywhere – well, except, of course, in the Old Testament. 

Taffy: Judy, did you find out from Pastor how extensive Dora’s past due tithes are? 

Judy: I most certainly did! Given her late husband’s income, that harlot owed more than three-and-a-half million dollars when she fled the church! We've been trying all kinds of methods to get the money - don't ask - but still nothing.

Betty: To make matters worse the tawdry trollop once again has set up a page on the Internet besmirching all of us. God will not be mocked! 

Taffy: Well, all I've got to say is if she wants so badly to play the victim, let's not let her down. 

Judy: Remember, we are representing the Lord. So no rough stuff until we've got the money. 

Heather: I understand that old geezer she married was so advanced in years that even his grandchildren have passed away. So there shouldn’t be any Anna Nicole Smith-type lawsuits over the estate. 

Betty: Dora is the sole beneficiary. I have already checked that out. There is an IRS lien [passes out copy] for a small amount and two or three rather substantial debts. In the end, though, the estate should wind up with at least 10 mil in easily liquidated assets. All of our church’s U.C.C. filings are in order. Ladies, I move that we escalate collection efforts on this debt to the Lord. First, that interest on the outstanding tithe be compounded daily at double the stated rate (but in no event greater than the maximum usury rate) until Dora is apprehended and the debt collected. Second, that we immediately engage Glenda Summerell’s gorgeous pool boy to lure Dora back into the jurisdiction of Freehold Circuit Court. Once Judge Rinehart, a Gold Tither, has her, all her assets are as good as ours. 

Heather: I second the motion. 

Taffy: All in favor? 

(Unison): Aye 

Taffy: All opposed? 
(Silence) 

Taffy: Motion carries. I’ll notify Lieutenant Holmes and Mrs. Watson. Betty, I assume, will continue her efforts. If there is nothing else, ladies . . . meeting adjourned. 

Betty: I will stop by Glenda Summerell’s on the way to the airport.

Heather: Marvelous! Now, let’s see what Judy brought under those Tupperware lids. 

[Tape ends.] 
 

 

 

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