Letters I Will Never Send (except maybe to S.E.P.)

Dear Red Roof Inn,

You make me sad. Each time I see your little insignia mixed in with the other little symbols on the Exit signs at the overpasses, I think you are Tim Hortons and my heart gives a little jump for joy.

You sir, are no Timmies!

Sadly,
A Canadian Missing her Favourite Kickapoo Joy Juice
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Dear Krispy Kreme Donuts,

I owe you an apology. We got off to a bad start, and I said some things about you that I am now ashamed of.

The problem was, I met old, cold, slightly hardened you. Then recently, I met your young, hot, soft, gooey, melty, drippy, krispy, “hot off the presses” self.

I now adore you. Please forgive my previous ignorance and know that I will be seeing more of you before I go back to Canada.

Love,
A Repentant Chubby Girl Making Up for Lost Time

P.S. Your coffee needs work. Go north and visit my friend Timmie so you can learn from the master.
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Dear Tim Hortons,

I miss you more every day. There are still nights that I wake up with tears on my face and a cold empty hand where your cup used to rest.

I hear you are having your famous “RRRRoll Up the Rim” event. How I wish I were there to celebrate with you. Will you still be RRRolling around Easter? I will be seeing you the week before then, when I finally get home.

Do you know that it has been almost six months since my lips last rested against your dark brown lid and your heavenly nectar filled my mouth? Do you miss my $1.55 per day as much as I miss peeling back the tab on your take out cup?

I have made your home brew, but it is just not the same. I am counting down the days until we are reunited, my love.

Longingly,
A Girl With an Addiction

P.S. Ever considered ditching your donuts and going with Krispy Kreme’s instead? Just a thought.
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Dear Susan Elizabeth Phillips (or S.E.P. as I call you when we talk in my head)

Wow…that greeting sounds a little creepy. It’s not like we really talk in my head, more like I talk and you listen. And we only talk about your books, so it’s not like I am pretending we are BFF and going shoe shopping with you. I have real friends for that. Really.

Getting down to business, I have to ask you: What the Jack?

I am a huge fan of your books! I love your sense of humour and your whole writing style. I have actually woken my husband from a dead sleep several times because I find you so dang funny. (Just to let you know, this is somewhat of an honour, because I am not much of a “laugh out loud” kind of girl when I am reading.)

Some things you should know about me:
1. I read a lot.
2. I am a very fast reader.
3. Because I read so quickly, I generally do book exchange or the library so that I can afford to both read and feed my family.

Now that you know this, you should realize how much it means that I saw your book “Glitter Baby” and wanted to have it for keepsies. I drew on my past experience that
S.E.P. never fails to amuse me and her books are ones that I like to reread.

Then I actually started to read “Glitter Baby”. There were several times when I truly had to check to make sure that it was not written by Danielle Steele, and I am still not entirely convinced that some horrendous printing mix-up did not occur in which your name was somehow printed instead of hers.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Danielle! (I tried calling her Dani, or even Elle in my head, but she is really more of a full name type of girl.) Her early works are particularly poignant and spellbinding. Lately, however, it is like she takes a name, location, and plot and loads them into a sneaky little novel writing program on her computer and out spits a new book. Not so enthralling.

S.E.P., WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? I did not laugh once during “Glitter Baby”! And I paid full price!

Sadly,
A Reader Who Is Out $9 and Three Hours
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Dear Bloggers Who Think They Are So Cool With Their Fancy Fonts,

What is with your tired little trend of writing words that have a line through them but are still clearly legible and then writing what you thought you should have written after these stricken words?

Puhlease! That is SO two months ago. And really, just because you can cross out words, do you really think I am picturing you at some fancy little outdoor French café, sipping espresso with your long cigarette in a fancy holder, blowing out thin streams of smoke and laughing to yourself as you scribble your spontaneous little thoughts on parchment paper with a fountain pen and then strike out your hastily written little faux pas while Fifi, your pink tinted toy poodle gently nibbles smoked salmon from a Royal Dalton Bread and Butter Plate?

Because I don’t!

So there!

Sincerely,
Someone Who Hopes I Never Need to Let My Font Be Funny For Me
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Dear Font Makers,

Recently, I have seen that some bloggers are using a new font that allows the user to make it appear as if they have stricken a word from their writing, but it is still legible. I have not been able to find this clever little font and wonder if you could help a girl out?

Jealously,
An Unsuccessful Googler of the Font I Adore
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Dear California Highway Patrol Officer from Back in October,

I think you are unfair. It was not very polite of you to serve me with a ticket while I was having a bit of a moment on the 101.

See, my truck had gotten away on me because of all of the hills on the road and I was really enjoying the scenery. When one is being pushed along down a hill by a 32 foot travel trailer, it is hard not to, at times, slightly exceed the speed limit.

I noticed that none of the big rigs that blew past me on those hills like I was standing still were pulled over getting their tickets, and this bothers me somewhat. One might even observe if one was in the habit of being a Peeping Tom in any number of campgrounds across your great nation, that I have indeed lost sleep over the matter.

It also concerns me somewhat that I had to keep calling in to find out the amount that I owed on this traffic violation. By me calling in, I of course mean that every so often my darling husband would notice the ticket hanging on the bulletin board and grouchily call your head office. If my speeding was such a big hairy deal, then why did it take you three months to get the ticket in the system?

By the way, thanks for waiting outside my trailer door while I peed parked on the side of the road. I was a bit nervous as this was my first time getting pulled over, and I have a nervous bladder. I know for next time that I should not, in fact, exit my vehicle at any point during a stop by the Highway Patrol.

Thanks also for only marking me down for going sixty in a fifty five rather than seventy three. (It is a big, heavy trailer.)

My legal council, Joice Lynn, has advised me that her mom once got a ticket in California, and the officer told her that the record is expunged after three years so if she was not planning on driving in California for that amount of time she should just not pay the ticket. Ok, so Joice isn’t really legal counsel, but she claims to be able to do anything she can read about in a book and I am pretty sure she has read a Grisham book sometime in her lifetime. You can see the connection, right?

Respectfully Yours,
A Slightly Innocent Motorist
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Dear Canadian Border Guards,

If I have an unpaid speeding ticket from California, will you still let me back into Canada?

Hopefully Yours,
A Weary Traveller Who Fears She Can’t Afford Any More Travellers Health Insurance
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Dear California Ticket Expungers,

Is it true that you wipe tickets off of people’s records after three years?

Ummm,
Someone Who is Just Asking for Research Purposes?
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Dear Joice,

Hi! We had a great time visiting with you guys! I miss you so much already and am so glad that we got to renew our friendship!
Umm, just in case anyone from California Traffic contacts you regarding me, I may have mentioned that you are my legal council.
Hope your bathroom recovered from Andrew’s unfortunate incident!

Love,
Your Favourite Travelling Hairstylist

P.S. Have you ever read a John Grisham novel?
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Dear Paper Clip on my Sidebar,

You are so cute! Thank you for all of your suggestions and helpful input. Thank you for always talking to me so kindly when I have a little problem or start writing a letter on my Word Program! I just want to roll you up in a leaf of lettuce and eat you like a crispy little healthy burrito!

Love,
Someone Who Should Be Sleeping Instead of Writing Letters to Animated Paper Clips

Squeezito, Suction Crotch!

Remember Todd and Joice from seminary? Of course you don’t. It was like, seven years ago. We didn’t even have child number three when we knew them. To say nothing of them! Heck! They had two and a half new kids since we last saw them. I know it’s not really possible to have half a kid, but they are kinda incredible people. Kid number three was only a few days old when they left the hill. The hill is what those of us in the biz call the seminary. Ok…I guess it’s also not really a biz…more of a school. Whatever. So back to my point…there have been three more children since we last saw each other. I don’t think that was the point either, but it is late and we have passed two different time zones this week. Or maybe the last ten days. I don’t know. You know what else is sad? My internal clock is ALL messed up! I have an odd talent. I can seriously tell you what time it is just by feeling around inside of myself and looking at the sun. And now? Now my talent is gone. I blame the time zones. I have been seriously off on about three different occasions. It’s just lucky that it gets dark at night or I wouldn’t even know it it was AM or PM. Sheesh.

So we went to visit Todd and Joice. They have FIVE kids! I know what you’re thinking. Crazy…with three syllables. Right? You would think so, but they still actually inhabit the sane side of the fence! As we were driving to their house, Joice called me and said that Todd was concerned that we might not know what we were getting ourselves in for because they are, in fact, building a house. Hmm. I started wondering if maybe they didn’t want us to come and visit after all and then thought, whatever, we’re almost there, so you have to love us now.

When we arrived, we drove right past their driveway and had to do a u-turn with 56 feet of vehicle around a church sign in a really odd spot in the road. There was also an inconveniently placed concrete thing that you park cars up against. We had to pile wood up and drive over that one. It was exciting. The kids didn’t want to wait, so we let them run ahead and a bunch of their kids came out to meet them in the lane. With the goats. Yup. Goats. One of them bit me. It was traumatic. Goats have strong jaws and sharp teeth. Ok. It didn’t bite me. But it bit my jeans. It would have eaten them right off of me, but I whacked it with my book. Yeah, that’s not true either. But I had a book. I was sitting in a lawn chair watching Andrew chip bricks apart for the barn floor and it bit my jeans. In the tooshie area. I was obviously out of my chair at this point.

Ok…so, lane, goats, chair…kids! My kids LOVE Todd and Joice’s kids. They had SO much fun together. One may even say that they got along like a house on fire! Andrew became a farmer. I think he has found his calling. He was out every night putting the chickens to bed and tying up the goats. There were horses too, but he didn’t really do much with them. I tell you though, any chance to carry a chicken and my boy was in there like a dirty shirt.

We did a lot of fun stuff with the Lynn family. One day their oldest daughter was in a race in Greenville so we went to watch her and her daddy run. We missed most of it, but did get to see them pass the finish line. There was an amazing river area with a huge scary suspension bridge over it, so we went down the rocks and played on the shore. We collected river glass for Joice’s new profession, which will be doing mosaic table tops. I claim half of the profits since I gave her the idea. We had an apple bag, and the city of Greenville must have a lot of people who hang out at the river with coloured bottles that get broken on the rocks, because we filled that puppy up! We then decided to cross the raging river. It may not have been the best idea. I’m not going to lie to you. There was a big splash (not me!) and some blood (definitely me), and two husbands laughing and pointing from the other side of the river. Eventually we made it across and had words with the laughers. Their defence was “at least we weren’t taking pictures!”

Then the cop showed up. Apparently there were signs posted all over the place saying it was illegal to be on the rocks. My question would be why they put the rocks there in the first place then? The nice officer told Todd that the fine was $1000. Per person. I thought maybe Joice and I could just take the jail time and call it a holiday. Hey…she’s living in a house that’s under construction and draped in plastic sheeting and I live in a trailer. Our idea of a holiday has changed a bit in the past few months. We didn’t get a ticket, but the officer was going to give one to a different guy who had several warnings for being in the river. He got off because he said he wasn’t wearing his glasses and couldn’t read the signs. I figure I will try to remember that one for the next time I get pulled over for speeding. Hey, it worked for him!

Later that night we left Andrew to baby-sit the seven other children. He had just turned twelve and we felt comfortable leaving him with them. We went to the Macaroni Grill. I have always avoided this restaurant because of the name, but it turns out there is absolutely no Macaroni on the menu. I did however find another dish that I am pretty sure Jesus invented and is preparing for the table He will set before us. It is the Pinot Grigio Chicken. It has Roasted Garlic and is breaded with parmesan cheese. Mmm. So just to recap, Jesus’ table now includes Pumpkin Spice Latte, Paula Deen’s Godiva Chocolate Crème Brule, and the amazing chicken at Macaroni Grill.

Macaroni Grill has a wacky sense of humour. They teach Italian in the washrooms over the speakers. I found this amusing. Todd found it a learning opportunity. Suddenly we were inundated with everything being “Squeezito!” which apparently means delicious. We were not really interested in the actual meaning of the word though, as it amused us greatly to just use it whenever and wherever it struck our fancy. You have permission to use it now, too. It is a very fun word to throw out there. Squeezito!

One rather disturbing element of the Macaroni Grill is that the back of the door in the women’s washroom says “Men” and vice versa. Given my previous, ahem, restroom gender difficulties, this freaked me out when I went to leave. The first thing to run through my mind was “Oh crap, not again!” Then I remembered that Joice was with me, so if I was in the wrong john, I was not alone. Whew.

On the drive home, I got a phone call from Andrew.
Andrew- Um, hi. Yeah, Mom. OK, well, um, the toilet is plugged and the bathroom is flooding.
Me- Hmm. Here’s Joice.

We got home and it was raining on the whole main floor of their new house. While praying “Please Lord don’t let this be poop water!” we dashed up the stairs. Andrew was understandably upset and when we assured him that he had done a good job babysitting, he said to me “Mom, I was in the bathroom plugging up the toilet with my giant poo while they were watching a movie. I don’t see that as exactly a great job.”

The next day Andrew and Boaz went out and found a jar full of tree frogs. They dropped them off on the deck with us where we were examining them when someone noticed that they are all suctiony, particularly in the crotch area. This inspired our new saying of the day, which was of course, “suction crotch”. Now not only are interesting things “squeezito!” there are also random mutterings of “suction crotch” to deal with, which is always met by screeches of laughter.

The frogs the boys caught reminded me of my frog scar. Frog scar you say? How can you get a scar from a frog? Let me tell you. When I was a teenager we learned how to dissect frogs in school. I found this to be a lot of fun and felt really sad for my cousins who had never dissected anything, so one day when we were out at our grandparent’s farm, we found an old tin tea kettle and went collecting frogs. We didn’t have a tray of wax to pin the frog onto, so grandma fixed us up with a cookie sheet covered in newspaper and we thought we would just pin the frog to the paper. We selected the largest frog so that all of the organs would be easy to see. That’s when we ran into our biggest problem. My expertise had only been tested on pickled frogs and these babies were still alive. Let me tell you something: frogs do not make an easy transaction from live to dead when you are not using a lawn mower. With that being said, they do apparently get knocked out. I question the wisdom of sharing our method of execution, but since wisdom is not always my strong suit, I figure what the heck. We threw it against the sidewalk. Yup. Keep in mind I was very young at the time.

So, back to the old KO. When we went to pin our “dead” frog to our dissection pan we found out he was not so much dead after all, and someone had to bite the bullet and put him out of his misery with the hammer. The dissection was a success however, and I prefer to think of it as science and not torture. One of the cousins actually became a doctor and I like to take credit for that because I showed him his first internal medicine. Ok…that’s not entirely truthful. He’s a Chiropractor, so he’s not actually practicing internal medicine, but you need to stop judging me. And I guess since his dad is a veterinarian I may not have actually shown him his first medicine, but you still need to stop judging me. Back off.

Oh yeah! The frog scar. When I went to pull “Tiny” out of the tin tea kettle, some of the frogs jumped and hit my hand which startled me and I pulled my had rather quickly out of the kettle and sliced open my wrist. Kind of anticlimactic now, isn’t it. Some time I’ll tell you about my kitten Tippy. That will hold your interest.

Until then, Squeezito!

Mullets, Church and Family

You are going to have to stretch your mind here with me. That’s right, we’re going to have to use our heads here folks. Turns out it’s not just the stuffing in the showcase for that fantastic head of hair you’re carrying around.

While we are on the subject, let’s just diverge for a sec and talk about that hair. If you can find your hairstyle in a current Hair Magazine or one of those giant books in the waiting room of your salon that has a cover date earlier than say, eight years ago, then this rant is not for you. (But you may enjoy reading it anyway.)

If you have a mullet- first of all, WHY? Remember that woman on Survivor who had her hair in a mullet because she thought it made her look more feminine for her husband? She was a lunch lady and couldn’t be dropping hair in the food but then she got all famous because of the show and lost her job but not the mullet? Yeah, no. Ever hear of a pony tail. You can wear them to work and they do a fantastic job of keeping the hair out of your eyes and people actually don’t mind going out in public with you. You could be the kindest, most spiritual and loving person in the world, but your message is not getting across because of the packaging. It’s like giving someone an engagement ring but making them fish it out of the urinal. Still an engagement ring, but ew!

Here are the steps you need to take to fix this. Make an appointment with your hairstylist. Sit in her chair (let’s face it, a male stylist would not have let you get away with this atrocity for so long) and explain that you have a mullet and would like to end the vicious circle. If she tries in any way to convince you that the mullet is ok, stand up, apologize for wasting her time and thank her for the many years of faithful service. Now walk out. Do not turn back.

Walk into another salon, stand in the middle of said salon and take off your hat. (You, of course, have taken to wearing a hat since reading this, to cover your shame.) Loudly, but politely, ask if anyone can help you do something about your mullet. Be prepared for a variety of reactions that may or may not include weeping, applause, hugging, bouncing on the spot, and the tinkling of a tiny little
bell as another mullet finds its way home to the salon floor.

Mullets are not the only hair horror that are still out there, but perhaps the most loathed, so I am using you as an example. The rest of you know who you are. If you are in doubt, just assume you need a little update.

Back to the reason I was writing. Oh how I loathe going on. I know that these two subjects really do not go together, but I am going to forge ahead and say it anyway.

I have heard a lot of people in a lot of churches talk about how much they need new people and wonder why people come once or twice and never return. I was talking to my friend Ruth about this and she asked the pertinent question “What’s wrong with the old people?” That made me laugh and I have no answer.

So this is the way I see it. All of us that go to church every week tend to call each other family- as in church family. The Bible says that all of us are God’s children. Family and children. Still with me?

Here’s where it gets dicey. Newbie comes in and sits down. Maybe they don’t look the same as the rest of us (mullet), have unruly children, sit in our pew, don’t know the songs or sing them a different way than we do, or fail to remove their hat during service. Or maybe they look really good. Like, better than we do. Chances are, we shyly look at them and hurry by on our way out to lunch with our friends, or shake their hand, say it’s so good to have you with us, and scurry out to check on the roast we threw in before church. We then leave them to blindly search the building for their children that ran off with the rest of the rugrats when kid’s service was announced and go for a lonely lunch to discuss why no one really talked to them.

Here’s the thing. People who come to church are looking for something. Someone. They may already know Jesus but need a friend. They may already have a friend but need Jesus. We can give them both, but not if we run away from them. Pastors- don’t you nod and agree! You are doing it, too!

So what do we do? I have put a lot of thought into this and it comes down to family. Not in an abstract, “we’re all family here” way either. We need to make it real. Every time we walk through the doors of that church it is a family reunion with Jesus as the host! That new person that walked through the door is family that you haven’t met. Go and greet him! Talk to him! Ask him about his life! You guys have the SAME FATHER! Why would you want to ignore him!

Think of how it is when a new baby is born in your church. Everyone gathers around and looks, has a party for the family to welcome the baby and cries happy tears that one more has been added to their number. See the correlation?

We should be able to visit any Christian church and feel like we are home. Why are we not excited to see family from other cities and find out what their story is? We could actually learn something. They may have heard something from the Father that we have not heard and be here to spread the news.

Now if your long lost brother walked into your home would you shake his hand, say nice to have you with us today, and rush out the door to go for lunch with your friends? Are you getting this?

Would you say hope to see you again but not get his phone number and call him that week?

It’s about not just giving lip service to the notion that we are a family, but actually putting it into practice and acting like it.

Sure she has a mullet. Guess what? It’s just hair. (It hurts me to say that, but it’s true.)

OK- their kids are really, really annoying. Have you forgotten what it was like when your little angels were that age?

For me, the people that look like they really have it together are the scariest to approach. How sad. One of my favourite people in the world is one that I thought was too good for me to talk to and be friends with. Turns out she’s just as much of a mess as I am, but looking great on the outside helps her to feel like she is keeping it more together on the inside. And you know what’s even better? We have the same Father!

I guess my point is quit whining about why people don’t stay and start treating them like you want them to. Go for lunch with them. Ask them how they met your Father. If they haven’t met Him, introduce them. Interact with them during the week (as in put down the remote and invest in people, not electronics.)

Love your neighbour as you love yourselves.

Oh yeah- and please, please, please lose the mullet.

Tornado's A-Comin

Things that go through your mind when the Air Raid Siren goes at 3am.

What is THAT!
Oh crap, we’re going to die!
Can’t really be an air raid…we are not wartime.
OH NO! Tornado!
“We have to get out of here!”
“Kid’s…we don’t know what this sound is! Get your housecoats and let’s go!”
Oh crap, where’s Marie? I’m glad I scrubbed her up. She was looking really grungy.
“I know you’re scared, Sweets. We all are.”

I’m glad I put the passports in a ziplock yesterday. Much easier to get them now. I hope they don’t fall out of my pocket, but we will never get home without them if the trailer blows away. Should I bring my jewelry, too? What shoes should I wear? The yellow shower shoes dry the fastest but if we are on the news they don’t look very nice.

(Standing outside in the dark and rain.)
“DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THIS SOUND MEANS? WHAT DO WE DO?”
Why are the people in the house across the street not turning their lights on?
Oh no, that guy said tornado warning…Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
I wonder if the stilts their houses are on are strong enough that if I grab the rope the kids were playing with and tie the whole family to it that we will not get blown away?
Oh good, they shut the siren off. But what does that mean now?

“Kids, get in the truck…there is a storm shelter by the beach!”
It was a fort 200 years ago and is still standing so we will be safe there. What if no one comes to open it and we are all stuck outside when the storm comes. They should give you a pamphlet when you check in about what to do if the Air Raid Siren goes in the night.
Ok. All of those people are going to the campground office. Where are my glasses? What a good husband I have…he knew I would need to see. Why is Abby crying so much…hold her. Poor thing…shaking like a leaf. I won’t ever let you go.
That rain is really coming down. I think the umbrella is a bit anticlimactic at this point, seeing how I am already dripping, but he sure does take good care of me.

“I know you’re scared guys, Mommy is too!”
We look like a bunch of ants running to the hill. I hope it is unlocked. Oh good, the managers are here and they don’t look freaked out.
“No, she’s shivering because she is terrified.”
Ok…the bathroom. My family calls the bathroom. There is water in the back of the tank and I remember something about bathrooms being safer in storms. Where is Michael? Ok…he has the boys underneath that brick arch. That will work too. Jesus help us, Jesus help us.

“OK Matt, I’ll take you.”
No I will not let you pee alone! You lost the option of peeing alone the moment the siren sounded. I can’t believe Andrew wanted to bring his book. He is SO my kid. I hope the twister waits till I am back with Michael. Why do I always have to remind him to wash his hands? Jesus help us, Jesus help us.

Wonder if he will let me have my phone? Act calm, act calm, stop crying! Sheesh, the tears just keep rolling here. Ok…call my parents and sister. No answer. Why are they not picking up? This phone displays such a stupid number that no one ever knows it is me. I am so scared. Try them again. Still no answer. I hate this phone. Dial 2 for speed dial long distance. One for English. Now the number. No answer. Maybe the Stenske’s. They will pray for us. I always answer in the night. Why does no one else. If I don’t answer I get all worried that someone died and I missed it. Jesus help us, Jesus help us.

I am SO scared! Everyone is. The men are all acting so strong, but you can see it in their eyes. Man those dogs stink. At least we will have food if we get trapped. That’s right lady…yappy goes first. Ok…Tina Stenske answered. Don’t cry too hard, she has to be able to understand. Try to talk quietly or Michael will take the phone away. Ok…they are praying and now someone knows where we are. Breathe. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. I should call the family and leave a message. Mom and Dad’s machine isn’t working. Laura’s house. Should I say “I love you guys.”? No. That would scare her too much. They already know. I should have said “I love you.”

If the twister comes, Michael and I can link around the kids and keep them pressed against the wall. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. They are too young for this. I want to go home. I will take a blizzard any day over this. I am so scared.

“Sure baby, I will take you to the potty.”
I wish everyone would come with us. If we’re going to die, I want to be together. She is still shaking. My poor baby. I should pee, too. I don’t want to wet myself later. Can’t believe everyone else got dressed before they came. Why didn’t I think of that. Doesn’t matter. I wonder if anyone will lend me pants if the trailer is gone. And a bra. I NEED a bra. Does this nightie look OK for the news. I can’t bend over to sift through the rubble. I hope someone gives me pants. The nightie will just look like a long shirt. My hair is still dripping. Wish I had a comb. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. STOP CRYING, Tina!

Where are these people going? Where is Michael? SIT DOWN or you will lose our spot in the brick arch. Fireplace chimneys always seem to be standing after a disaster. I wonder if we could fit all the kids in the fireplace? Oh…the watch is lifted. Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus. Call Tina back and tell her we are ok. Man these puddles are deep. I hope the kids hang up their housecoats and don’t just leave them in a soggy mess on the floor. Stop crying! Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus.

Oh crap. I’m not wearing any panties. Ruth is gonna love that!