I totally bombed my first confession.

It’s something that the perfectionist over-achiever in me can’t let go of (almost twenty years later).

It started off well enough. I hesitantly crept into the holy hallowed phone booth. (I realize that “holy hallowed” is redundant, but there were confession boxes on both sides of the priest.) I was just working myself into a good claustrophobic panic when the little listening door swung back with a loud, echoing THWACK! which I mistook for the sound of the Angel of Judgment alighting on the top of my booth ready to smite me for my horrible digressions. I instinctively ducked and slowly gazed up towards the ceiling.

A deep voice acknowledged me.

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