Sore Throat

So just as I make my pledge to blog more I get stricken with a sore throat. No, a sore throat does not impede my ability to type, per se, but it drastically impacts my mood and disposition. In short- I am a bear. I am an absolute whine-y bitch when I have a sore throat. I would rather any of the other common ailments, but sore throats are my Kryptonite.

They used to do the Blessing of Saint Blaise at my church and if you aren't Catholic you will likely not have experienced this. The blessing is intended to ward off sore throats and mouth cancer\throat cancer because Saint Blaise had a terrible lisp or a studdering problem or something, but anyway it's a great blessing to get right? Especially for a little girl who HATES sore throats and always seems bound to get one at least once a year (at the worst possible time-- do you think its psychosomatic?).

Anyway the blessing isn't just a sign of the cross and a few mumbled words and you're done, oh no. The priest takes two long tapre candles, crosses them into an "x" (I guess come to think of it it mught be in the shape of the cross and not an "X", but the effect is exactly the same), and then puts the crook of the X up to your throat while you stand there and he says the appropriate prayer.

To a little kid this looks very much like ritualized assault. It looks like strangulation without the stuggle. I always panicked at the idea of giving the priest such power-- what if he decided to strangle me for any reason? No thank you. It would be too easy.

So as a kid I always chickened out and I always got sore throats. When I was older, in highschool I finally screwed up enough courage to do it- and it was kind of a rush! It was not scary and no, the candles aren't lit (else our hair would definitely go up in flames!)-- though I do wonder if back in the middle ages they had been lit as part of the ceremony....

But I got the worst sore throat of my life that year right as I was supposed to take the stage as star of the annual high school musical, soooooooo. Draw your own conclusions.

Even though it didn't work that year I still think of St. Blaise whenever I am stricken with the grating, raw pain of a very sore throat and wonder if he's looking down at me and studdering: "I t-t-t-t-told you suh-suh-suh-so!"