I had some Crohn's issues in the middle of the night last night, so I've been a little light headed today. Thinking that moving furniture might prove to be kinda stupid...I decided to do it anyway. But I figured I would just try a little prayer so that if today was the day I was finally going to have that heart attack, I could at least get the loveseat back in the living room and maybe take a shower before the paramedics arrived.
So there I am...in my bike shorts and t-shirt chanting "Jesus, take the wheel...Jesus, take the wheel" when my doorbell rang.
It was an older couple and a little kid that looked remarkably like the kid in Jerry McGuire, except this one had a bow tie. And a sweater vest.
(Did the kid in Jerry McGuire have a bow tie? Or a sweater vest? I can't remember.)
I couldn't hear what they were saying to me because it was at that precise moment that both Bosco and Stewey decided to go bat shit crazy simultaneously.
(Normally they take turns to do this so that one can rest while the other mauls the drapes, but today they were a Jack Russell tornado of barking and, in Stewey's case, tiny little bunny teeth.)
The little kid handed me a brochure through the crack in the screen door.
I looked down and saw a picture of Jesus, and as God is my witness (and I guess he kinda was), the brochure said "How's my driving?"
It didn't really say that. It was a brochure about the church around the corner, but if I admit that then I have to deny the fact that I looked at this brochure and said "Holy shit!" to three very lovely, but now traumatized Jehovah's Witnesses.
They REALLY should make pills for this.