That is, until I noticed (while channel-hopping) that Confessions of a Window Cleaner was on Bravo and suddenly felt that what I really needed to celebrate the birth of Christ was some 1970s smut. I also knew, from previous viewings of the Confessions films, that a sex scene was coming up and that I absolutely needed to watch it. I couldn't go to Mass.
My grandparents, having been given a Bowdlerised version of this story which involved me being tired or somesuch, left for the church looking somewhat disappointed. I turned the TV back over to Bravo whereupon I realised that the sex scene I had
I rocked up at church with about thirty seconds to go and threw myself into a seat with my assorted gaggle of family members who make up half the congregation, and then assured my grandparents that I'd decided to come after all; I wasn't feeling tired at all and suddenly perked up at the chance to sit in semi-darkness and sing carols to candlelight; nothing else could please me more.
And, in many ways, that's just right.
Anyway, they were showing Russ Meyer's films the following week.