“The glossy lipstick, the fingernail polish, the open toe shoes, the toe polish, and the hotel Bible. In your defense I told them you weren’t expecting to come to church and that’s why you had a hotel Bible, but they didn’t buy it. They said if you were saved, you would have been traveling with one of your own. They had a pretty good point, so we kept that one on the list. Lastly, they wanted the first lady to look a little more first lady–ish.”

“What is first lady–ish, exactly?”

“Like a gospel singer. One of the ones they play on the radio all the time.”

Now, I was really confused and needed some clarification. “Like Mary Mary?”

“Oh no. Mary Mary is scary scary. One of the more spiritually mature gospel singers.”

“Yolanda Adams?”

“Not quite mature enough. You know, they play her on the secular stations.”

“CeCe Winans?”

“No. They haven’t forgiven her for breaking up with her brother BeBe.”

“How spiritually mature do they want me to be?”

“They were thinking more like Shirley Caesar mature. Albertina Walker mature. Mahalia Jackson mature. But that’s only until they warm up to you. You know, the first few months or so. You know, like a year…or four. Again, I hope I’m not offending you.”

The violins had stopped playing and the concert pianist started hitting all the wrong notes. Make that a seismic shift in cabin pressure. I paused for a moment to exhale. I stared into his eyes. I could still sense his sincerity. His eyes made me feel that what the missionaries requested was going to be harder on him than it was on me. Suddenly his request didn’t seem so bad. A Shirley Caesar makeover was a small thing to deny a man that was willing to make me his first lady. I mean, what did I really have to lose?

With boldness and confidence I looked him in the eyes and replied, “Curtis P. Merewether, if the missionaries want a makeover, then a makeover they shall have!”

Curtis grabbed me, picking me up, turning me around, then placing my feet on solid ground. Suddenly the concert pianist was once again on-key.

“Sister Montana, you have made me the happiest man in the whole state of Georgia. The only thing left before we can get married is for you to get saved.” The violin strings popped.

“That means being in church Monday night for prayer meeting, Tuesday night for Bible class, Wednesday for Missionary service, Friday for Young People night. And once you’ve tarried for the Holy Ghost, spoken in at least two tongues, rolled under the pews at least three times…” The piano was again poorly out of tune and the ground rushed to meet Curtis and me for yet another crash landing.