I am beset with work (the paying kind, not the baby kind), which is good, of course, except that I have neglected my poor little infant blog, and if I can’t take care of a 4-month-old blog, how can I ever expect to take care of a child?
Speaking of which!
I dislike it when people say, “I’m not sure if I’m going to have a baby, because, you know, I can’t even take care of a plant.” Because 1) one does not generally have the depth of feeling for a plant that one is biologically compelled to have for one’s offspring, and 2) a baby is not a plant, only more so. They’re actually sort of different from plants. Get out your biology textbook, put it side by side with your horticulture textbook, and study for a while. I’ll be here waiting.
And now I supply an anecdote!
(What do you think of these segues? I’m working on creating the most awkward segues imaginable.)
(You know what’s a great word? Segue.)
Saturday morning. The doorbell rings. It’s a large and merry band of religious proselytizers! They implore my kind, yet Jewish, husband to accept Jesus, but he politely demurs. Then they stand outside our window and jabber at each other about Jesus, and how great it is to love Jesus, and oh, Jesus Jesus Jesus, if he were there right then they’d want to give him a GREAT BIG HUG because they love him THAT MUCH. Now, seeing as how they’re leaning against our window and talking so loudly they might as well come on in, pour themselves some coffee, and wrench our unholy bagels right out of our blasphemous hands, I have the nerve to ask them if they might leave. I heretically lean toward the window and godlessly ask, “Do you think you could walk away now?”
“We’re doing the Lord’s work!” one of the proselytizers exclaims. “We’re here in Christ!”
“That’s swell. But it’s time to be somewhere else in Christ,” I say (more or less; it was probably something less clever than that. But this is my blog! Here I can be clever! Hello!).
At that, there is huffing and muttering among the group, but they eventually shuffle away—about five inches. That’s five inches more than Christ would have wanted!
A few minutes later, I’m leaving my apartment, off for a few hours of (undevout) freedom from the (heathen) child, when I pass the group of proselytizers (notice how I’m subtly not mentioning their religion, so as not to alienate any readers who might share that particular faith! Do you love me? You do!), who are now standing in the middle of the sidewalk, DOING THE LORD’S WORK by blocking everyone’s path, when the woman I had verbally tussled with grabs one of the child-proselytizers by the shoulders, turns him toward me, and said, “A satan comes in many guises.”
Does anyone know what "a satan" is? I am, of course, intimately familiar with Satan, but "a" Satan? What, I'm not good enough to be the real thing? Jesus.