Pearly Whites

Bleaching the Pearly Whites While Purifying the Soul

Plus, I'm jealous of the sense of community that church-goers enjoy. They always have babysitters on hand, and volunteers to help them move. No one wants to help an atheist move. No one wants to babysit our heretic children while we're out at our pagan parties.

So I ducked anonymously into this pretty church and slipped into an empty pew toward the back. Knowing my mouth would be closed for an hour, I withdrew two Crest whitening strips from my purse and pasted them over my teeth. Long as I was purifying my soul, why not bleach my ivories, too? A morning of self-betterment both inside and out.

But when the service started, the pastor asked his flock to introduce themselves to any new faces. Dear god.

The women behind me and beside me both leaned in and extended their hands. Not wanting to expose my peroxide-pasted pearlies, I did what any rational person would do: I pretended to drop my purse and dove toward the floor to pick it up.

"Don't you write for The Independent?" one said. "Hi," I mumbled, blushing, with my hand over my mouth. "Nameth Thtarthine."

"Are you alright?" she asked. They're very compassionate, these people.

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