With Ash Wednesday almost over I’ve made no Lenten promises. Just as well. In no way, large or small, have I been the sort of reflective, repentant, renunciationitive* Christian my parents and community of worship has taught me to be during this finite time each year.
I didn’t go to church for ashing (sloth). My diet consisted of potato chips, ice scream sandwiches, chocolate, and soda pop (gluttony). I ruminated over hawt Mz. Molly freezing her ass in Rockefeller Center (envy). I overly enjoyed the visage of my sparkly daughter in her sparkly hippster hat (pride). I stole kisses from an unwilling 9 YO boy (greed). I pinched the hubster’s behiney while he did dishes (c’mon who wouldn’t lust over all those clean dishes!).
AND THEN – I dropped $3.04 and the F bomb at Sonic. Ignoring the fact that the fam is on a spending freeze and I shouldn’t even be enjoying Happy Hour, I wanted an iced tea. We nearly hit 90 degrees today! When it came, I asked if the car hop brought sugar. “You should have asked for that when you ordered.” What? I just tipped the bitchette a buck. She can’t give me some damn sugar with a smile? “I’d like a packet of sugar,” I insisted. Clearly unhappy, the carhop walks away in a manner I’m sure my parents recall from 1985 or so. Not that I would ever have rolled my eyes at a dorky adult who couldn’t order right. The car hop returns later with pink packets. Pink packets! Is she TRYING to give me Alzheimer’s? “No thanks,” I say. Then as I turn to back up I say “I just wanted some fucking sugar” to the slushy grins of my children. Rooster plucking mother trucker! (WRATH ALL OVER THE PLACE.)
You know, I haven’t eaten red meat today. That’s always a good Lenten promise. Okay. Phew! I feel all better now. I love you Jesus!
* Okay, I made that word up because I love alliteration. It just goes to show (internal rhyme) how much I suck at Lent as I ignore all the rules.