I went today to be fitted for a prosthetic wrinkle. I felt that my newly Botoxed face might frighten worshippers at this weekend's services, so I was looking for a way to disguise the temporary damage. But as I browsed the selection of ready-made wrinkle masks, I realized that this would be yet another act of vanity. So I left the prosthetics store, empty-pawed. I will wear this look of toxin-induced surprise as a reminder of my moment of weakness. And to avoid scaring the Pug Life congregation, I will simply preach behind a large white sheet, with my silhouette projected 40 feet high.