From an email list I’m on comes the following:
Many years ago when I was a parishioner at the cathedral, the dean made the switch from red to white wine without telling anyone it was going to happen. The cathedral uses silver flagons and so it was not readily apparent until one took a sip from the chalice.
One of the grand matriarchs of the parish rose from kneeling at the altar rail and slowly made her way across the chancel to her seat after making her communion. In a wonderful throaty stage whisper that comes only from years of smoking she grandly announced: “I was not aware our Lord was anemic.”