Tom and I shared a leisure breakfast with friends at the outdoor café in Hawaii one Sunday morning. We stayed in a resort on the beautiful ocean shore. On the stroll back to our rooms after breakfast, my girlfriend, whom I nicknamed Sherona, mentioned she wanted to go to a church service. The guys declined but I took her up on it and changed into my skirt. We got into her rented convertible acting like Thelma and Louise, two liberated women on a mission. But things turned sour. Sherona and I talked too much on that highway and missed our turn off to the Catholic Church just down the road. “Keep driving east about 25 miles, Sherona, and we’ll come to a park in the next town over with a bunch of churches on one block,” I said. I knew it well since I took a tour of the island a day before. We arrived and parked the car. Sherona insisted that we choose a new experience and attend the Hawaiian service. I tried to persuade ...