This summer and fall, so far, I’ve been having a mostly jolly time with my Christian Women’s Gardening Club by growing luscious fruit and serving it in al fresco brunches on our graciously-sized, Tuscan-style veranda. Dickie, my dear husband, Pastor Cummings and his sweet wife, Cherry Anne, do so love to suck the juice from my very own, home-grown melons and nibble their succulent flesh.
The only raincloud in my sunny skies has been that old tramp, Titsy. She, too, has attended gardening club meetings in order to attempt to grow vegetables, and the ubiquitous stink of her generic “brand” cigarettes pollutes the air of the entire room. Of course, I sit as far away from her as possible for that reason, among many others, but especially, her puerile personality. With her invincible dedication to chain smoking, it’s a wonder she has not yet become a human torch, given the buckets of hairspray she douses on her crispy hair, which puts one in mind of fried noodles. Although she is quite “earthy” (meaning déclassé), let me just say that she does not have green thumb. In fact, I’m not positive that she has opposable thumbs, as I avoid looking at her claw-like, nicotine-yellowed and garishly painted, false nails. So, in retrospect, on some level, I was not shocked to find a massive cucumber, standing rigidly erect in the driver’s seat of my luxury sedan.
“What is the meaning of this?” I shrieked as I slide my dainty fingers around its chubby shaft. Luckily, the Lord anticipated my need for his calming presence – he is all-knowing, so that fits with his modus operandi – as he was seated in the passenger’s seat and swigging from, what I suspected to be, a beer can stuffed into a koozie.
The Lord said, “Oh, Gladys, relax. There so many things you can do with a sturdy cucumber. You’ll think of something.” He pressed the button to roll down the window, and although the car was not yet turned on, it did so. I never tire of his omnipotent tricks.
“I’m not concerned with what to do with it, Lord. I want to know how it got here.” I hope the Lord didn’t see my eyes pop open so aggressively as I was really in a state. “You didn’t do this, did you?” I asked.
“Nah, it was Titsy. I think, actually, I know, she’s jealous of how big your melons grew. You know how she is.”
I slumped into soft white leather seat, still wielding the enormous green wand, and let this information sink in. I noticed the Lord was wearing flip-flops and that his toenails were very clean and beautifully trimmed, as would be expected.
“Yeah, I’m going tubing before it cools off too much. I love partying on the river.” The Lord started the car’s air conditioning.
“What should I do, Lord? I’m at a loss.” I pressed my lips together and stared straight ahead.
“You could forgive her, make her a cucumber salad as a joke.”
“I don’t think so, Lord. I think I should teach her a lesson.”
“Whatever. Later. I gotta jet,” the Lord said and then he just vanished, but he did leave a pleasing, masculine fragrance like clove and cinnamon in his wake.
I remembered that the King James Version of the Bible says, “Them that sin rebuke before all, that others also may fear,” so I posted a scathing documentation of Titsy’s bad behavior on the church webpage. Pastor Cummings made me an administrator because I am such an integral force in the continued moral health of our church family.
Pray with me, My Faithful Cohorts, that the old hag will repent of her many sins against me and all that I stand for when she is ridiculed and shunned by every single Christian who reads about her simian hijinks.
Praise the Lord!
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