Hairdude

My heroic effort to dodge him in the between Sunday school and church rush is thwarted. Sister Sensible corners me to ask about the twins, whom I haven't seen in a month.
So, here he comes, catching me like a wounded turtle on a backwoods blacktop. His hair jets skyward, an idiotic holy grin marring his otherwise static face.
A gust of Grecian Formula emits from the hairdude's hairdo. "Heeey, brother," he begins, louder than anyone need be at his close proximity to my delicate ears.

"So... how's the fam?"
"Family" isn't a big word. It's OK to use all syllables on that one.
"Everybody's fine," I stammer eloquently, walking toward the sanctuary to shake the holy hemorrhoid. "Kids are growing up so fast."
He feigns interest before plunging into his message. "Pray for me, brother," he says, slinging an arm around my now tensed shoulders. Space invader alert!
"My dog's got the runs, and I had to lend my second car to the neighbor since their daughter Officia needed to borrow theirs, and Quinton is staying this weekend because his dad's campaign is heating up and Quinton needs a place to stay..."
The rest of the runon sentence prayer request marathon is lost as I greet the usher like an old friend, trying to pry the hairdude away at the main sanctuary entrance.
"I will definitely be praying," I reply in my holiest voice. "Indeed you've got many issues to consider."
I enter the sanctuary, safe from hairdude and his hairbrained prayer requests, wondering what he'd do if he actually heard about the divorce papers, foreclosure notice and job loss I've suffered this week?
My issues might sabotage his ability to bolster sympathy over his poor mutt's squirts, or Officia's car borrowing tactics or Quinton's 48 hour homelessness...
But I digress.