Bad Habits by Jenny McCarthy Read Free Book Online Page A

enough to have it in their home.
    At thirteen, the problem I was having at the time was that puberty and religion just didn’t mix. I was embarrassed by the whole thing and prayed we didn’t win. If we did, my mother would be required to put Mary on a table in our front living-room window to display to the whole neighborhood, much like in the movie A Christmas Story when the father of the Ovaltine kid wins the leg lamp with fishnet on it and his wife is horrified that he is displaying it for all to see.
    To make matters worse, the other obligation is to have an open-door policy for strangers to come in and join the rosary reciting all day and into the night. That would be beyond embarrassing.
    When we arrived at the church, my mom and my baby sister Amy, who was my mother’s minion, were ecstatic. Me and my two other sisters, Lynette and JoJo, were not that happy. My older sister, Lynette, at this point was goth and had half of her head shaved bald and the other half dyed jet-black. She looked like she was going to sacrifice a chicken, but she never did. Probably because she turned out to be a vegetarian. JoJo just did and felt whatever I did and felt, so she seemed equally embarrassed.
    Once we got to the parish, families ran up to greet us, telling us that the McCarthys were one of two finalists.
    “God damn it,” I accidentally said.
    My mother snapped her head around and gave me her famous evil eye, then continued to talk to her fans. “So who is the other finalist?” she asked.
    “It’s the Baruchs.”
    If this were a movie, it would be directed by Quentin Tarantino. The camera would zoom into my mother’s face, with an eyebrow raised, and then scan the room for her archenemy.
    Now I wanted to win. I wanted to win and shove our trophy … uh … our victory up Diana Baruch’s ass. Screw being embarrassed. I wanted to win!
    Father Patrick took the stage and began the presentation talking about the significance of the Traveling Mother Mary statue—about how it had graced many homes around the world.
    “But now Mary has made it to Chicago to be displayed at one family’s home for one year. This family was chosen after much consideration as the holiest family in the neighborhood.”
    The McCarthys and the Baruchs joined Father Patrick and stood on each side of him while my mom and Janet Baruch exchanged competitive grins.
    Father Patrick continued: “The holiest family on the South Side of Chicago, who has never missed Mass and who best displays purity of truth, love, and devotion, is …”
    My mom’s eyes grew large, but mine grew smaller as I scratched my itchy nose with my middle finger, catching Diana Baruch’s stare.
    With a perfect American Idol dramatic pause, Father Patrick continued. “… the McCarthys!”
    We all jumped into the air and screamed as if we had just won $2 billion. The parish applauded us. As I turned around to look at the Baruchs, they had already gotten off the stage and disappeared. Part of me felt bad. Even though I hated them, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for people when they were sad.
    When the parish officials delivered Mary to our home, I couldn’t have been more embarrassed.
    As a teenager in a poor family, I was already incredibly ashamed about my house. Now throw a four-foot Mother Mary statue into the mix and, well, it’s darn right humiliating. What made up for it, though, was how proud my mother was.
    She put Mary on a table surrounded by flowers she handpicked. She felt so proud, and she loved opening her door to strangers to come inside and kneel in our living room to pray all day and night.
    Living in a house with strangers praying the rosary out loud for a year is really not normal, though.
    I tried to get used to it, but there were so many old people that our house started to resemble the set of Cocoon .
    Right around this time, I met a boy who I really, really liked, but I knew I could never let him know where I lived. A Virgin Mary statue is not an