Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Get the Pope on the Line


Yesterday was a day of rare virtue.%

I would be smugly self-righteous if Pride wasn't one of the big sins.

I brought and ate oatmeal for breakfast.

I packed my lunch -- a healthy, reasonable lunch of tortellini, apple sauce and pickled green beans. I ate that lunch and only that lunch.^

I stopped at Vitamin Cottage on my way home and got an organic, whole grain, no preservatives burrito and a bunch of stuff for future lunches.

I got home and immediately divided fruits, vegetables, crackers and cereal into individual servings, distributed in zip-seal bags and ready to grab for those woozy early mornings.

I did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen and ate dinner.

I started the laundry.

I vacuumed thoroughly,§ per the steam cleaner instructions, then I steamed half the living room.

I brought the laundry upstairs and folded it.#

I steam-cleaned my way out of the living room and went to bed.


I took low-fat, high-fibre cereal and light yogurt for breakfast.

We had a celebratory lunch at work, and I ordered the fish tacos, only eating half my lunch and passing on dessert.††


I can get through tonight and one more day with no sweets, being productive in my home and work life and healthy in my meals,‡‡ I believe that counts as three miracles.§§

[SUMMARY: My grasp of theology is slick and slipping.]

Canonise me, Benedict. I'm a fucking saint.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I am completely leaving out the part where I was talking to Vickie in the kitchen while I microwaved my oatmeal and she said, "I'm just going to tuck your tag in here... huh. Well..."

"Is it inside out?"

"I think it is."

This wouldn't be the first time for that shirt. It's a button-up but I treat it like a pullover and its seams just aren't obvious enough for me to notice in my morning fog. So I huddled in the least visible corner of my office, turned it right side out and was left with big, white deodorant blotches for the rest of the day. (More about deodorant later in the footnotes. Stay tuned.)

I'm not sure this counts as a defect in virtue, but I worry they don't let dorks become saints.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): Speaking of, did you see the Catholic Church is expanding the list of deadly sins? I do admit that, in researching that to make sure I remain the paragon of education you've come to know and trust, I fell a little in love with the actual words under the Catechism governing sin (paraphrasing, but only just slightly): Mortal sin destroys charity in the heart of man, while venial sin allows charity to subsist but offends and wounds it.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): No between-meal snacks!

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If anybody doubts my three miracles, this should bolster my claim. Believe me when I tell you I've never cleaned for the sake of cleaning. Oh, sure, if people are coming over or as a matter of public health or I've lost the cat, but I just don't clean for fun. Or even because it's the right thing to do.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): OK, my vacuum cleaner has this cleaning indicator attached to an electronic eye that monitors the amount of crap being sucked into the vacuum. A lot of crap earns three red lights, then in goes down to two... one... and finally green as the carpet is picked clean. I live and die by the lights. I vacuum slowly, slowly... RED LIGHTS! Sit! Stay! Three red... two red... one red... GREEN! Inch to the next red light, repeat. I am such a dork.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The half I wasn't using to fold laundry and knit.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If there is any question, this counts as our second auxiliary miracle. I tend to leave the laundry in the dryer overnight when I do it. Then I go down every morning (two-and-a-half flights of stairs, three levels) and pick out an outfit, tossing it into the dryer with a damp cloth to steam the wrinkles out. I dress in the basement (which almost always entails at least one trip back upstairs for shoes or socks or bra or something) and go out the garage from there. Also? I keep my deodorant in the car. There's a reason. You don't need to know it right now. Just take comfort in my current state of martyrdom that I'm putting this forth to make your wacky life seem utterly sane.


‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I should probably point out it's the night of Drunken Knitters, so I'll really want a beer. Do I still get my miracle if I drink? Catholics aren't averse to drinking, right?

§§FOOTNOTE (spinning in a sea of beatitude): I believe now would also be the appropriate time to point out (again) that I am suffering through Lenten deprivation even though I'm not Catholic and I think I should get saint points for that.

No comments: