God, and Other Things I Like to Play
|April 19, 2012||Filled under Miscellaneous Prose, Uncategorized|
It is creeping up on midnight and the residue of my over-stuffed day is still dripping down my face in the form of impossibly permanent mascara. I throw back the covers of the bed, and adorning nothing but the sexiest of flannel pajamas with a toothpaste smudge, flop with a thud onto the mattress. My capacity for conversation is comparable to an amoeba in a vegetative state. The Man peers up from his I-Read-Smart-People-Books Helmut Schmidt biography and casually announces the following:
“Did I tell you I believe in God now?”
His timing is impeccable, but I’ve known this since he interrupted a perfect appetizer with a marriage proposal.
A little background information on The Man. He attended the Technical University of Berlin and got some smarty pants degree in space ships or interstellar propulsion or star mechanics or something. Prereq: Being an atheist. He grew up so close to socialist Germany, he’d be asked to pass the toilet paper under the stall to the commie side (and as we know, all commies are unbelieving heathens). The last time he went to church, he was probably in utero. And back when we were dating (in the kitchenette at work mostly) and still interested in the ideals of each other, he very clearly told me that we’re all dust and matter and return to dust and matter in the end. God, he said, is just a crutch. Or something like that.
Now, he explains as I begin drooling on my pillow, he believes in God because otherwise the whole universe would really just be pointless. (I’m thinking “like this conversation” but I’ve been married just long enough to know we’re not supposed to say our thoughts out loud.) Meanwhile, I am trying to understand why the existence or non-existence of a god makes the universe more or less pointless. At midnight. In my pajamas.
Of course, I’m a good wife, so I throw myself at this new challenge like any good partner would. First I got to be the mid-life crisis, now I get to accompany The Man through his spiritual infancy and development. If neither of those things land him in hell, then nothing will.
So I’m taking applications from religious groups so that he might expand his spiritual horizon. It’s fantastic because usually I’m turning away those Mormons and Jahovahs and Scientologists from the front door with warnings that I have Turrets/Leprosy/Compulsion to Expose Myself. Generally I do this while swearing and pretending I just lost my thumb in my bra. Apparently, some people just aren’t worth saving. But now I’m going to welcome them in and wait to tell them all that stuff until they have a fresh cup of coffee (which, by the way, I’m not wholly convinced is not a deity itself [double negative, I'm from Idaho]).
Obviously, while I want to support his philosophical inquest here, mostly I want to direct him toward a religion from which I would benefit. On this matter, I’m a little torn.
- Mormons have a lot going for them: That whole multiple wife thing has some serious perks. Just as long as I’m not the house cleaning wife. I want to be the cooking wife and the shopping wife. Con: Coffee isn’t in the cards. That’s a deal breaker for me.
- Catholics are just pagans in disguise: What with all that ritual, costume, and icon worship, they are quite possibly the funnest religion out there. Con: Orgies less popular than with the pagans.
- Scientologists: An impressive roster of followers. Con: They’re obviously crazy.
- Jahovahs: No birthdays? WTF?
- Buddhists: Weird haircuts.
- Toaists: Good poetry.
- Jewish: Bagels. Need I say more.
The further I consider, the more confused I become. Try as I might, I cannot find a religion that supports the copious consumption of coffee, the worship of the housewife, and the generous sharing of all credit cards.
So I said, “Honey, now that you’ve come to this conclusion, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you and it might come as a surprise. I am god.”
It was worth a try.