I went to Catholic school. I know the importance of the rosary and (vaguely remember) all the stations of the cross. Which is why when I went to the dumpster a few weeks ago and saw a baggie of rosaries (next to a water gun – it was all very Baz Luhrmann Romeo & Juliet), I couldn’t just let them get carried off with the trash.

I admit that I initially left them; not wanting to get caught rummaging through the garbage (although stopping to Instagram wasn’t weird at all), but Sister Christine kept nagging in my head, so I went back a few hours later, dug them out as nonchalantly as I could, and brought the rosaries home.

Which then left me with the problem of what to do with them. I mean, what does one do with seven rosaries that won’t make them completely ineligible for Heaven?

Me?

I put them on Buddha.

And then on my dog.

And now they’re lying safely in my nightstand next to my glasses and hankie, just like a little old lady.