How well I remember the giggly whispers in church, "I hope I don't get Monsignor!" The poor old guy would just bump you on the forehead with his giant thumb. He didn't dip as frequently either, so you were doomed to receive a very faint, sprawling smudge. Our pastor, Father M., on the other hand, gave a very crisply defined cross. People were known to jump to his line.
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