I’m feeling sad and blue this evening, as I had sinful thoughts about Larry the plumber who came to fix that pesky leak. So I think I’ll pray to Jesus for salvation.
“Claude,” my mother called from the kitchen, which was something like four corners and a staircase away from me in my bedroom, “come down here now and help me fold the laundry. And then I need you to take out the garbage, boy.”
I wish my mother were less bossy, but she is my mother and I love her despite her character defects. I just wish she went to church with me rather than to that heathen Episcopal Church in the city. She needs to be born again and accept that Jesus as her savior, not listen to lazy Episcopalians who believe in gay bishops and drinking wine for communion. Me, I don’t know which is worse – drinking wine in God’s house or accepting a ‘homothexual’ (that’s what Pastor Johnson, our devout leader at church and at yoga classes) as your bishop.
And … gasp … Mama plays gin rummy with the other church ladies on Tuesday afternoons.
I didn’t feel like doing Mama’s chores, so I yelled down the stairs. “I’m busy, Mama, writing my journal for the evening. I’ll do it in the morning,” I said, knowing full well she couldn’t leave chores undone for the night.
I knelt by the side of the bed, summoning up the words to pray for forgiveness about those sinful Larry thoughts. But Larry’s stubbly chin and armpit hair peeking out of his wife-beater tank top got my crotch all tingly and stiff. So I reached inside my pants and wanked on it for a minute. It felt something like a birth – something new, wrinkly, and smelly.
Now I can pray for forgiveness.
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