I hesitate to post this because I don’t want to pigeon-hole myself as that blogger who won’t shut up about the pope. But, I’m going to take that risk because you will never believe what happened to me this weekend.
It was ha ha funny when the producer from the Katie Couric show called and dangled the opportunity to be on the Katie show after I wrote a piece about my cycle of shopping and hiding it from my husband. It was boo hoo sad when the producers called back to say my stash of hidden Nordstrom Rack bags was not really good enough for daytime TV. (Excuse me for not being a complete train wreck.)
Naturally, I assumed that my little blog would fall back into obscurity, where in all truth, it probably belongs.
Then, I wrote Friday’s post about why I would not make a good pope, which was simply a humorous nod to the unfolding events over at the Vatican.
IT WAS JUST A JOKE, PEOPLE.
Now you are up to speed
Then I got my second solicitation for a TV show. This time, a producer tapped me as a potential contestant on a reality show. Set it Rome (as in Italy, not the county seat of Floyd County, Georgia).
There I was humming my favorite Gregorian chant and my cell phone rings and the number is something like 98177716273894084178, so I answer it out of curiosity.
“Is this Outlaw Mama?” A voice rich like an espresso with a hint of vanilla inquires. I detect a Continental accent.
Next thing I know, this producer is asking me all kinds of questions about my pope post and my religion and my thoughts on Catholicism. (It’s only mildly disturbing that I never once thought to ask “hey, how’d you get my number?”)
Patrizio Della Maria DeNunzio starts explaining to me that he is casting for a reality show about a clergy search. If I were to be chosen for the show, I would be expected to move to Rome by March 1 and should expect to stay there for a minimum of six weeks.
Holy Fabio From Top Chef! What was I supposed to do? Act like I was too good for reality TV? That would have been rude. While he was not a man of the cloth, he was casting a show about men (and women?) of the cloth. Patrizio deserved my respect.
Anyway, as usual, I got a little overeager. I started to share. Then I started to over-share. Then I talked myself right out of the running.
Somewhere about the time that I explained that I was with child when I got married the conversation changed. Patrizio turned chilly and informed me that he “didn’t think it would work out” to have me on the show. I guess he was assuming I could pass as a lapsed Catholic until he heard that I conceived before Holy Matrimony. I guess I crossed some kind of line with that one.
I took it with the grace that any other pagan in my situation would. I cried and begged him to rethink casting me. He didn’t budge. In our final seconds, I felt that burst of courage that only the recently rejected know. “Patrizio, can I ask you one question?”
I took his silence as assent.
“What’s the name of this show?”
I heard him sigh with all the breath in his swarthy heart. “So You Think You Can Be Pope?”