Should I blame my crow-like love of all things shiny and gaudy on the austere religion of my childhood?

Is my fascination with icons, glow-in-the-dark Virgin Marys, Christ of the Highway statues, neon Shivas, hot pink big-bellied Buddhas and all of the tackiest shiny religious kitsch due to the Mennonite world of plain pews, no stained glass, no messy crucifixes and no musical accompaniment aside from the very upright piano?

Do I love the flamboyant colours of Latin America & the kaleidoscopic mess of India because it contrasts so dramatically from all that button-downed, Just Say No To Everything-ness?

Growing up, we were told that plain was better. (What on earth were those Catholics thinking with all those saints and statues?)

Long after my mother had died, and once I was well into my forties, my father told me that Mom had caused a bit of a stir by wearing a daring shade of darkish lipstick. Truly.

The 60s didn’t reach Mission City until the early 70s. But when those hippies hit town, and the Jesus Freak movement landed in our church, it knocked some of the stuffiness right out of the separate entrances for the men and women.

There were guitars and drums!  Raised arms and clapping in time to the beat!

But the last time I went to my childhood church, the pastor asked the audience (it seemed we were no longer a congregation) to “…give a round of applause for the production people.” Wow. It used to be that someone got up and sang – for the Glory of God -and then sat down. You didn’t clap and you certainly did NOT thank the production people.

That was years ago. Maybe it’s changed. I never went back to find out.

I am aware of the hypocrisy of my position. I may not attend church, but I want it all to stay as pure and simple as my childhood version that I no longer believe in. Yes. I know. That’s rather crazy.

But it doesn’t really matter whether I go or not. The Mennonite thing is bred into my bones. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Plain black is still my go-to colour for most of clothing. And when Kevin and I bought our iPhones, he chose white and I chose black. No sin of pride or vanity for me. No. No. NO!

Recently I received an email asking me if I’d like to try some new Sticky Skins for my iPhone. Sticky what?

I went on the Sticky Skins website. The Colours! The Designs! Interchangeable Covers!  I picked the cover that looked rather hallucinogenic. I loved it on sight when it arrived in the mail. It slid on, with nary a bubble or crease.

I’ve had it on my phone for a couple of weeks now. It looks as good now as it did when I first put it on. No peeling edges, just bright happy colours that look like they’ve always there. It makes me smile each time I look at it, even though I know that underneath all that flash and colour, it’s just a plain ol’ Mennonite-black.

Now I am suffering from the sin of pride. Because my iPhone is definitely, and rather defiantly, wearing the equivalent of a bright red, and very sexy, lipstick.

I don’t think they should call them Sticky Skins.

I think these devilish candy-covers should be called Sticky Sins.