Thursday, April 19, 2012

If you knew Jesus like I knew Jesus.

The husband has taken up tennis in the past couple of years.  He is an energetic player, and super competitive, so we tend not to play together. [Also, I am terribly out of shape.  And very competitive. It's a recipe for disaster, is what it is.]

So the husband has been playing tennis with various friends and family, but the problem is, he wants to play a couple of times a week, and people are busy. Particularly those of our friends who are parents of kids the girl's age, but who didn't have the foresight to send their child away to boarding school [PS Prom is Saturday! I hope she takes at least one fucking picture!], and who are thus over-extended driving their not-quite-drivers-license ready kids to after school activities.

The other day, I was going to get my hair done after work [it looks amazing, by the way. I got highlights!] so he decided to play with a coworker he doesn't know very well.

Who proceeded to spend the entire time asking the husband if he knew Jesus Christ.


The husband got witnessed to while trying to play a game. By his coworker. Who he had to remain polite to [which, as we later discussed, why don't proselytizers have to be polite? Why do they not take, "I'd like you to stop talking about this" as a friendly warning? Why do they keep pushing and pushing until you have to say, "STOP FUCKING TALKING TO ME?" Huh? Why?] because the husband may be a heathen, but he's not a dick.

The husband said that this guy told him GOD spoke to him and directed him to save the husband.  Which is . . . flattering?

I confess, I laughed.  Because he continues to mock me about the Jehova's Witnesses who keep dropping their literature in our door on Saturday mornings. [Weird aside, the friends I have who are deeply religious - and I am friends with evangelicals, people; I know that's hard to believe - have NEVER ONCE asked me if I was concerned about going to hell.  Is it because they have good manners? Or do they just not give a shit that they won't see me in the after life?]

Also, the level of swearing the husband reaches when discussing his forced witnessing? SUBLIME.

PS I will be at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop this weekend. If you're going to be there, come talk to me.  I'll even listen to your spiel about Jesus.


  1. You just got prosteletized, SON!

    My best friend is an ordained minister. It's never occurred to me to ask her if she believes I'm going to hell for my disbelief. I'll have to do that.

  2. Now I feel like I should have let the pack of Mormons speak to me yesterday, instead of just seeing their LDS things in their pocketses, immediately followed by their look of shock and disbelief that the door was shut on then, with a smiling me, waving to them on the other side of the glass.

  3. You know, the Mormons who appear on my doorstep are always lovely people, but I don't get why they have to go out recruiting. I don't go waving my "I go to church a handful of times per year and so should you" flag around town.

    Also, I didn't know there was an Erma workshop! So jealous. Feel free to show up at my door after your weekend to sign me up for the Church of Erma.

  4. God spoke to me one time and told me to get to know Jesus. I now have a friendly relationship with my neighbors gardner. God was never specific as to WHICH Jesus.

  5. When I read the line "Who proceeded to spend the entire time asking the husband if he knew Jesus Christ" I burst out laughing. I'm sure your husband has made a mental note to watch who his chooses as his tennis partner in the future, yes?

  6. I don't think your friends don't care if you go to hell. They just know what most Christians know. If you are interested, you'll ask. We won't need to shove it down your throat. Now on to Jehovah's, holy poop. They are like parasites. You cannot get rid of them. Unless you don't open the door. I even told some that I believe in Jesus and am saved. But it didn't count because I didn't believe in "their Jesus". Say what?! lol I have learned just don't open the door, or be prepared to say things like, "I worship the Devil". That usually makes them run.

  7. I don't give a shimmering shit about being polite when it comes to that shit. If I wanna know I'll ask, otherwise shut your mouth or you will be hearing about the clots in my last period.

    I have a Zero Tolerance Policy.

    Bam! I'm hardcore!

    Sarah xxx

  8. Can't wait to hear about the workshop! Perfect for you!!

  9. I once found myself on a 'Christian Bus' (that's a real thing) when I was a kid, after asking a nice man if he could change a five pound note. Two hours later, him and two women were praying for someone called Jenna (they miss-heard me, and thought that was my name). There just didn't seem to be an appropriate time to interrupt/ask to leave/say that I didn't believe in any of what they were telling me.

    Sometimes, having manners is totally crippling.

  10. I can't even address the evangelical issue because my head will burst into flames (which I know you think would be cool but you wouldn't be able to see it). All I'm going to say is- Erma Bombeck?! One of the funniest women ever. I'm not embarrassed to say I've read every one of her books. Funny like you but not a trash mouth. Kisses.

  11. okay catching up on your blog because i haven't visited in a while. hahahahaha. loved this.

  12. My sister is a believer. Like, she thinks our super-sweet grandfather is in hell right now. Probably.

    But she never ever ever talks to me about it. The above tidbit I know only because I'm a smart-ass and I asked.

    It's not that she doesn't care. She's just quietly praying that when God is ready for me, he'll make himself known.

    In the meantime, I'm studiously avoiding playing tennis.

  13. OK, so I know they ("they" equals "not me") think that Jesus is everywhere and whatever, but does he have to be at tennis? It's such a racket.

  14. because the husband may be a heathen, but he's not a dick.

    You're so funny, and I'm so glad I got to meet you at Erma. Wish we could've had a few minutes more to talk. Next time!


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