Wednesday night was the first day of my new life as a follower of televangelist Melissa Scott, and once you’ve seen her, I’m sure you’ll agree that you simply can’t get enough of her.

Pastor Melissa Scott is the third and final wife of the loony Rev. Gene Scott, who had once hired her as a hot young babe to sit in the front row of his TV audience. Anyway, he’s dead and Melissa took over his, ahem, ministry.

She has a waist-length mane of hair that she likes to flip over her shoulder, and her heavy make-up says actress/stripper, in contrast to her bizarre black frock-coat and heavy men’s shoes. She paces back and forth in front of a white board scribbled with weird foreign words. Her hand motions suggest a background in mime or hula dancing. It’s hard to take your eyes off the hands, but given the rest of her, one manages the task.

Pastor Melissa’s accent is hard to pin down and her diction is particularly odd. Her attitude runs the gamut from mildly annoyed to manic and wrathful.

I fucking love her. I remarked to my husband about midway through her show, “I’d like to know what this woman was in her former life.” That’s when he googled her and learned that she was once a porn star and enterpreneur.

My hope is to one day attend her Sunday service in downtown Los Angeles. I want to ask her about those shoes, which look like they might be my size, a full and lovely 10 narrow.