Cleanliness is next to Godliness, right?

Dear “Louie” and “Gwen”:

I’m pretty sure that God does not want you to ring my doorbell right after I’ve put the baby down for her nap so that I can have my first shower in two days in order for you to proselytize some article containing All New Proof  about the veracity of the great flood.  I don’t need or want to stand in my own front doorway in my robe at nearly noon when I have a swimming lesson to get my son to in less than an hour to convince you that actually the great flood is a pretty low priority for me at this time.  Obviously you mistook my unwashed hair, frazzled expression, and felt-penned hands as a sign that I was in a state of religious turmoil, going downright mad over my confusion regarding the happenings surrounding this mythical flood. In fact, that was not the case. That is just what I look like. And if I was particularly concerned about the great flood (or is it the capital GF- Great Flood?), I’d go out of my way to find my own answers and I probably wouldn’t take your opinion and transcribe it under “fact” in my brain at least partly because I don’t know you from Adam but mostly because I feel quite a bit of animosity towards you for waking up my baby and causing me to miss my SHOWER which is a very important part of my day when you consider how many great floods I clean up daily and how much my skin would likely glow under one of those weird urine lights that they give away free with every bottle of Urine-Off.  (Which is a great product, by the way, but you aren’t supposed to spray it on your skin.   Believe me, I’ve thought of that, too.)    

The Great Flood?   I’ve long ago forgotten even which Great Lake is which, I haven’t slept through the night since 2005, and I really really really honestly don’t mind whether the flood occurred or not.  (Although I must say that I found the resulting movie, Evan Almighty, pretty funny so I know that the flood occurs in verse 6:14 in the Bible).   If you want it to have happened, then fine, it doesn’t bother me one iota that you believe it did (or didn’t) (or some combination:  maybe it was a smallish flood or maybe you buy the part about the water but not so much the pairs of animals setting sail for a three hour tour).   Whether it happened or not will not affect my own religious beliefs (or lack thereof) that I’ve arrived at all on my own without once being influenced by a poorly dressed doorbell ringer aggressively cramming their less-than-fact-based Awake magazine down my throat.    It does, on the other hand, affect me a lot that you WOKE UP THE BABY AND INTERFERED WITH MY SHOWER.  

Are we clear?   OK then.   Go forth and shower.    At least one of us can. 

Love,
Karen

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