The Conversation Started Like This:
Why is it called “Fat Tuesday”?
End of Story.
“Fat Tuesday is the traditional name for the day before Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.
It is more commonly known as Mardi Gras, which is simply Fat Tuesday in French.
It gets its name from the custom, in many Catholic countries, of marking the day with feasting before the fasting season of Lent begins.
Though Mardi Gras technically refers only to Fat Tuesday, the Mardi Gras season actually begins on Epiphany, a Christian holiday celebrated on January 6 that is otherwise known as Three Kings Day or the Twelfth Day of Christmas.
In Brazil and many other countries, this period between Epiphany and Fat Tuesday is known as Carnival.
Whichever name you prefer to use, the Revelries of Mardi Gras last until Midnight “Fat Tuesday”, when Ash Wednesday ushers in Forty Days of Lent.”
I actually *am* a Recovering Catholic.
The last thing I gave up for Lent, when I was Fifteen, was Catholicism.
And tomorrow all Good Catholics will walk around with Schmutz on their Foreheads.
It’s all I can do *not* to run around wiping everyone’s head off with a tissue.
A *used* one…
“Going To Church Doesn’t Make You A Christian Any More Than Standing In A Garage Makes You A Car.”
I’m *not* a Big Fan of Organized Religion.
You can do *anything* Religiously, that doesn’t necessarily make it “Spiritual”, does it?
(To say I was a Skeptic would be an Understatement…)
When I was little we’d go to Church every Sunday.
In those days Women had to wear a Hat in Church.
Evidently if you Failed To Do So you were Destined to Burn Eternally in Hell.
On the Occasional Sunday we failed to bring Appropriate Headgear, my Mother would inevitably come to the rescue with a Tissue and Bobby Pins.
Fashion of the Times.
Yes, THAT Tissue Alone would Save My Soul, no doubt.
My father was an Usher at the Particular Church we went to.
He’d been a member of the Knights of Columbus as well.
We’d do “Confession” on Saturday nights, receive “Holy Communion” on Sunday, my father would , with the other “Ushers”, do the Collection in the middle of the Painfully Tedious Service, and at the end of this Charade, he’d say, “There, don’t you feel all HOLY now?”
Then we’d go home, and by the end of the day he’d be drunk and verbally and/or physically abusing everyone.
Then, when I was around Fifteen, my older sisters and I while investigating “Alternative” Religions, discovered “Evangelism” (Born-Again-Christianity).
You can Well Imagine where the Story goes from There.
Perhaps I’ll tell Y’all sometime if anyone cares.
Let’s just say, over the years, it involved my Sister getting married to my Ex-Brother-in-Llaw, who, while being an Ordained So-Called Christian Minister, was(is) also one of the Vilest People Inhabiting the Earth.
Boy Howdy can we (meaning my ENTIRE immediate family including my Daughter and my Dogs) tell you stories about *that* Fiasco!
But, that’s for Another Time.
::Please Make A Note Of It::