Saved by the hurl
My immediate family is not at all religious, but my mum's side, being of Polish extraction, are Catholics. Back when we lived in England, one weekend it was announced that we were driving to Birmingham to see my cousin's confirmation. The prospect of going to sit in a church to see a ceremony we didn't believe in conducted in a language we didn't understand did not exactly thrill my brothers and I, and we bitched and moaned for the entire car ride. My mother told us that she understood, but this was important to her relatives and we should feel honoured to be invited to see it.

Luckily, once we got into Birmingham, my younger brother enacted a cunning plan and vomited copiously onto the floor of the car. This meant we ended up standing around in a cold Birmingham street for an hour watching my parents scoop vomit out of the footwell, but hey, it was better than going to church.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Fri 2 Sep 2011, 4:29, 1 reply)

Praise be the vom gods.

(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Fri 2 Sep 2011, 7:33, closed)