I went to church this morning in a corner of my mind where the women all smelled Beautiful and the men all sounded happy. We knew it all a lie but what better place for liars to congregate than a room where our lisping stammering selves could stand shoulder to shoulder and sing nobler, sweeter songs? Maybe Sunday’s best was not so much something we put on as it was a hope to dream of for a couple of hours with friends. I don’t know that this was true, that we worshiped that keenly. But like most things, it could have been.