, , , ,

Dear God:

I have been looking every morning in the mirror for my halo, and so far, well, you obviously know it has not arrive. Unless of course, you have some angels that are behind or a little slow.

I’m assuming that it will not arrive by mail. Am I wrong in this?

Well, I thought I might as well bring you up to date on more reasons why I’m sure you’ll be wanting to gift me with one soon (along with all kinds of nifty new powers of course–I’m particularly fond of teleportation if I get a choice, but any of them is fine.)

Well, as you know, I live with the Contrarian and we were duly married in the state of Iowa by the local judiciary nearly 12 years ago. Twelve  l o  n g  years ago, if you get my drift. I don’t mean to say the guy isn’t lovable, but he is, as you remember, the basis of my application.

Anyway, I want you got get a sampling of the INSANE world I inhabit here with this man, and that is 24/7, I don’t have to remind you surely.

Okay, please add these items to my application:

Last night, we decided not to watch the way-to-long Dancing with the Stars, so we watched Upstairs Downstairs, and let the tape run. This allows, as you well know, being able to fast forward. In this way we can stick to the dancing and skip all the crap. The Contrarian handed it to me (the remote that is) and I proceeded to, well, you know, fast forward.

“Stop! You’re doing it all wrong!” he shouted. “You don’t extend your arm and you don’t do it overhand with your fingers! Look at how your wrist is bent? “You’ll have arthritis in no time!”

“I’m doing just fine, leave me along,” I warned.

“Well don’t blame me when your wrapping your wrist and whimpering. It’s all thumb action, keep your arm close in and underhanded, grasshopper,” he bellowed.

“I said, leave me alone, it’s working just fine,” I steamed.

“Okay, we are at a commercial, now hit the lower right with the two little arrows, that will fast forward at 30 second intervals,” he instructed.

“I’m using two buttons, and I think I’m getting it done, so just quit badgering me.”

We finished the show in 30 minutes, saw all the dances and all the scores. I handed it back.

“It’s all hot! What did you do to it?” he wailed.

“I’ll get you another blanket.”


“You’ll need it sleeping out here tonight!”

You said that if I died before you, you figured to have me cremated, right?” he asked.

“Yes, I thought I would. Carry you around with me, place you on the mantle, talk to you when I needed to.”

“Well, okay, but if you change you mind and bury me, make sure it’s the highest place in the cemetery,” he said thoughtfully.

“Why do you want me to do that?” I asked dumbfounded.

“Because I’ll be closest to heaven there. You know how I hate to walk.”

As we were on our way to the store today on our monthly shopping excursion:

“I very nearly didn’t make it today you know,” he said softly.

“Why?” I innocently asked.

“I nearly had my toe broken by a big frying pan,” he pontificated.

“Wow, really?” I asked.

“Yes, you fault once again!” he spouted arrogantly.

“How so?”

“You refuse to place the dishes properly in the dish rack in the sink, and the pan fell out when I was being so kind in putting away the dishes for you.” he pouted.

“Grow up!” I retorted.

“Grasshopper, one of these days soon, I’m going to show you how to properly fill the dish rack.” he said superiorly.

“Well, let me suggest we do it on the eighth day. When that day of the week rolls around, let me know and I’ll be there.” I smugly replied.

“You said you had a blogger friend in Albuquerque?” he asked.

“Yes, his name is Jerry.”

“Well contact him, and have him send us a copy of the TV guide from there,” he mused.

“Why in the HELL would I do that, if I may be so bold?”

“It’s gonna be MOUNTAIN TIME in New Mexico,” he said in utter exasperation.

“So what?”

“Well I won’t know if Big Bang is on at 7pm or 8pm, or whenever! I need to know these things in advance, so I can practice. My God, we will have a new cable company too. ALL the numbers will be different.  I got to get in remote shape BEFORE the move, for God’s sake!”

“You are freakin’ insane. You know that of course.”

“And get ready to sign up for NFL on our cable. Cuz I know these crazy New Mexicans probably don’t watch the Packers. Come to think of it, that could be a deal breaker,” he warned.

“Not having any wood work to do is gonna present a problem in New Mexico. I mean no trees to fell, no wood to chump, no splitting and piling, no tending the fire day and night. No working my fingers to the bone any more,” he sighed.

“Yes, that working two hours a day, two days a week was rough. However will you manage?”

“Well, I’m thinking about a hobby. Hard to find the right one. But I think I might have just the right thing,” he smiled.

“Really?” I said with as much droll as I could muster, rolling my eyes.

“Yes, I’ve decided to be a dance judge,” he smiled triumphantly.

“Ahh, I see,” I laughed, if you can imagine with even more droll than before.

“Yes, I figure I can start out at the local exotic dance bars in Las Cruces. Ya know, work my way up. Start slow, take my time, learn it from the bottom up as it were.” He was grinning, from ear to ear, like the most precious 14-month old who had just left a magnificent poop in his diaper and then plopped down, just for emphasis.

“Uhuh, right. You know you are insane don’t you?”

That should be enough don’t you think God? I’ll be sure to wake up early. My halo is ON THE WAY!

your loving servant,



       American Psychiatric Society (inclusion as the standard of human ability to remain sane without benefit of drugs under the most trying of circumstances)

       Guinness Book of World Records (for staying sane for longer than anyone else similarly situated)