For as long as I've known her, my grandma has been involved in one sect of batshit Evangelical Christianity or another. So I'm 16 at the time, and my aunt and I agree to attend a religious demonstration where she sings and dances with a glory hoop. For those of you unfamiliar with glory hoops, they are made by taking the inner part of an embroidery hoop, stretching tasteless fabric over it, and then embellishing the edges with trim and ribbons. Some even have words of praise emblazoned onto the fabric. I had a few back in the day before Big Atheism snatched me from the hands of Christ.

This debacle took place in a storefront church, in a questionable part of town. We sit politely through the singing and dancing of religious folk, and it isn't too bad, despite the content. Then my grandmother comes out in a getup that involves copious amounts of lamé, and starts singing and waving her hoop around. She cannot sing. Like, at all. She's warbling and croaking through words of praise while looking like a shiny toad, waving this ridiculous bedazzled hoop around, a look of shining adulation for her Lord and Savior upon her glistening (from sweat) skin, and my aunt and I are struggling with all our might not to burst out laughing, to little avail. All it takes to burst the dam is one look at my aunt's red face, as she desperately clutches to the last vestiges of both her decency, and her self-control, and the first titters escape. We had to book it out of there to the bathrooms, before we caused a real commotion.