I’m sure you’ve heard the joke:
A kid is gleefully shoveling manure. Someone asks why he is so happy and he says something like, “With this much horse shit, there must be a pony in here somewhere.”
Well, I am so damn sick of shoveling shit that I don’t care if I ever find the pony. I want to hang up the shovel and slam the stable doors on my way out. And if that thought offends you, it’s a good thing you are only reading what I write and not what runs through my mind. Believe me, this blog—despite all the typos and errors—is heavily edited.
I know I should be counting my blessings—because they are plentiful. I know that because I have a bed to sleep in and food to eat, I’m better off than most people on this planet. Hey, I even have a glass of wine in my hand, and that, of course, makes me much, much, much better off than most. Please don’t act surprised. As a suburban housewife, I’m up-holding a long tradition of self-medicating in the afternoon. Haven’t you seen the Brady Bunch episode in which Mr. Brady tells Mrs. Brady to take a tranquilizer and she says she has already had two? That episode doesn’t get much play, but I swear it exists.
Besides, the point isn’t my occasional glass of wine. The point is I know I am blessed abundantly, but if some Mary Sunshine were to knock on my door right now and proclaim God loves me, I’d punch her–and I would tie her up and make her stay with my mother-in-law while I take off in her car.
So, there you go. My thoughts for the day are horse poop, a Brady Bunch episode that justifies my drinking, and a fantasy about stealing a car from a Jehovah’s Witness. Why am I picking on the Witnesses? ‘Cuz they are the only religious group who has even showed up at my front door. I’d gladly take down a Baptist or another Lutheran right now, but they aren’t as likely to show up, are they?