After a week of religious discussion, what better way to end than with the story of the time I joined a cult?

Oh yes I did.

You probably think joining a cult takes a lot of forethought. There are robes to buy. And Kool-Aid. Family members to notify, and the telephone numbers of recommended deprogrammers to leave with them before you depart.

The truth, though, is that joining a cult can start with something as simple as accepting a Bible study invitation from a cheerleader. Or becoming an Arbonne consultant. It really kind of depends on what kind of cult experience you’re going for.

Anyway, you can read my real-life cult experience in this week’s newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil.

The full text of the column is below:

Suburban Turmoil: Oops! I joined a cult

More than a few of my friends have been tempted to join a cult. Some have dallied with the Cult of Arbonne, signing on as evangelists for the expensive line of facial cleansing products and then hawking them at social gatherings with all the zeal of a Branch Davidian rhapsodizing about the Apocalypse.

Others have joined the Cult of Jimmy Choo, strapping on a $1,000 pair of Whipstitch Platform Sandals with the same glassy-eyed expression Heaven’s Gate members surely wore as they donned their black Nikes.

Lately, the Cult of Snuggie has been tempting my own family with its alluring promises of “total warmth and comfort.” I can understand that for some, joining millions of other Americans in wearing a backwards robe would have the same kind of giddy appeal as getting married in a mass wedding conducted by Sun Myung Moon.

But I tried that cult thing years ago. And let me tell you, it’s totally overrated.

Like all cult experiences, mine began with an irresistible lure: Nutmeg Hatfield. She was a popular blonde cheerleader at my high school who decided one day to overlook my clear braces, big perm, and lowly freshman status, and invite me to her church youth group.

I’d like to say I accepted her offer with visions of a closer walk with Jesus dancing in my head. The truth was that those visions involved riding shotgun in Nutmeg’s bitchin’ red Honda Prelude and meeting tons of cute guys that my mom would totally let me date because, hello, God had introduced us!

Perhaps that’s why I overlooked the weirdness once I got there. Nutmeg’s youth group was filled with teens that had been rounded up by her friends and delivered like prizes to the adult leaders. More than a few of them told me they had actually moved in with other church members because their parents just couldn’t understand their newfound devotion to Nutmeg’s church.

Nutmeg also roped me into attending a small weekly Bible study, where three church members held my hands and prayed, quoted scripture and took down my notes for me.

While the Bible study was dull, the youth group seemed like one big party. After a few weeks of attending, though, my Bible study leader took me aside and sternly told me it was time to start making some sacrifices.

“If you’re going to commit to this youth group,” she said sternly, “you need to start bringing in new members.” I stared at her. “Also, I think you spend too much time on your appearance,” she continued. “You need to deny yourself, and do less with your hair and makeup.”

Whoa. That was harsh. I was my perm. My perm was me. End of discussion.

Though momentarily shaken, I decided to overlook the fact that my Bible study leader was turning out to be a total buzz kill, as well as my discovery that Nutmeg’s parents had divorced because her father refused to join the church. I had no opinion on the way her older sister had moved to New York City because the church told her to, or that the church controlled her mom’s finances.

Because… Cute boys! Prelude! Parties!

But when my mom came home from a Bible study with Nutmeg’s mother one day, the weirdness finally reached a tipping point.

“I had a really disturbing experience,” she said. “And since you’re supposed to do the same lesson in your Bible study next week, I wanted to warn you about it.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The lesson was about sin,” she said. “They said I needed to confess all of my sins to them.”

“What?!” I sputtered.

“They said, ‘Tell us the things that no one knows. And don’t worry, we’ve heard it all. We’ve even heard about people having sex with animals.’”

My mom was horrified, and decided to leave Bible study and never go back. And so did I. I mean, if my parents found out about the time I’d smoked a cigarette in the movie theater bathroom, or the night I stole a beer from the fridge and chugged it in the garage, the party would totally be over, anyway.

Once I announced I was dropping Bible study, Nutmeg promptly dropped me. A couple of years later, I took a World Religion class and found out in my reading that Nutmeg’s church was actually a cult! Oops!

So while today I understand the temptation of joining a group of people dressed in cozy blankets with sleeves, a group whose only crime seems to be one of fashion, take it from me, Snuggie wearers, you could indeed be getting in over your head. One day you’re doing what you want while still being trapped in warmth, the next you’re drinking Kool-Aid in Guyana.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

Image via millermz/Flickr