Talking to untitledmother today, I found out that she went to church for the first time in six months this past Sunday — and only because she was on the schedule to serve breakfast after the service. Six whole months without the holy ablution, the sinner’s license to watch “Real Sex” on HBO and keep a mysterious bottle of KY in your nightstand. Six whole months to eat Vienna sausages (low carb!) by the bowlful while reading “Prevention” magazine. Six whole months to give dollar store gifts to your loved ones while you yourself wear nothing but the most expensive brands.
Sense a little bitterness about that last point. Well, that’s because there is. A few weeks ago, she gave untitledson a “Faded Glory” outfit from Wal-Mart — which is just fine. I have no problem dressing untitledson in Faded Glory this or that. But then she had to go and pass it off like she got it at a fancy department store. Before giving me the gift (which, long story short, was a guilt gift — her way of not looking like an asshole in front of family), she said, “It’s from Nordstrom’s.” “Wow, Nordstrom’s has some cute things for little boys!” I exclaimed, waiting for her to fess up. But alas, nothing. Treacherous cunt. In the immortal words of Royal Tennenbaum, “I see you, asshole!”
Now the part that perplexes me is her complete lack of Christian knowledge. She knows the Bible, but she doesn’t KNOW it, if you know what I mean. She’ll zip right past the part about gluttony and greed, using the potato chip grease on her fingertips to help turn the pages.
I asked her why she quit going to church. At first, she blamed it on the pedophile priests she reads about in the Enquirer — her OTHER bible. But eventually, the truth came out. “I just like sleeping in on Sunday.” Just like she does on Monday and Saturday and every afternoon, for that matter.
Yeah, I know. It sounds like depression. We have some experience in untitledhousehold with that, and I feel fairly confident that her “depression” is self-induced. She went to a psychiatrist for a few months, and he prescribed her a plethora of pills, none of which “worked.” I’ve seen chemical imbalance, and this is not it. This is physical unbalance — the result of sitting on one’s ass for so long, that nothing seems enjoyable. Typical weekend day for untitledmother:
9:30 a.m. Wake up
9:45 a.m. Eat breakfast
10 a.m. Watch TV and read newspaper
10:30 a.m. Morning nap
Noon Eat lunch
12:30 p.m. Get dressed and go shopping, drop $350 on clothes for self
3:30 p.m. Afternoon nap
6 p.m. Go out for dinner
7 p.m. Watch TV
9:30 p.m. Bed
untitledmother has checked out of life, putting forth as little energy as possible, for as we all know, she who sits the most WINS. She has no hobbies, for that takes effort. She joins no clubs, again, the effort. And now she has quit going to church. She eats every meal out. She hires others to clean her house and do her yardwork. She would’ve hired someone to hook her bra a long time ago, if not for her embarassing back fat (hey, I have it too). It seems she won’t be satisfied until she has completely outsourced her life.
Now I’m only 35, and I’ve already figured out that to enjoy life, you have to get out there and get your hands dirty. Volunteer. Walk around your block. Go to the state fair. Sure, it takes effort — and it would certainly be much easier to sit on your floral couch and watch re-runs of “Walker, Texas Rnager.” But life will always be work. It seems that even happiness takes a little bit of effort. untitledmother is so screwed.