Sacred Heart Parish

Being a heathen/​infidel/​unbeliever/​amoral atheist scumbag (not my words, I swear), Church was never really my thing.
But you know, sometimes you have to go along with certain social customs, just to keep up appearances, or be sociable.
On one such occasion, I accompanied my friend and her family to Sacred Heart, in Westmead. It was lovely, as most churches tend to be. Spacious, green lawns, a pretty building, nice, wide pews upon which to kneel and pledge ones’ neverending worship of the chosen celestial deity.
It was all very nice, I suppose. Mass was, in usual fashion, delivered in a slow monotone, the purpose of which (I assume, because why the heck else would anybody make a service so dull) is to lull the listener into a sort of half-​asleep state, rendering them more receptive to the ‘message’, whatever it may be.
You know how at the end of a service, custom requires that you turn to the people standing closest to you, and clasp hands with then, in an effort to foster kinship and good will?
Yeah, I had to do that, and the man next to me looked perfectly normal, and nice. He was smiling quite broadly, in fact. So I clasped his hand, and noticed that he was gripping rather a little harder than strictly necessary, so I looked down… and there it was.
His sixth digit. His extra thumb. Which he was WIGGLING FURIOUSLY at me! Clearly, he was proud of himself for this little stunt, for he promptly let go with a Cheshire grin on his face, and made his way out of the church.
Leaving me to feel half-​amused and half-​irritated. All in all, an eventful experience. If only all church-​goers were so… weird.
I recommend you go here for your next worship-​session, if only on the off-​chance of meeting Six-​Fingered Man.