an appalling lack

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away I was going to the movies with friends – and I know you’ve heard this because this is my favorite story about one of my best friends – as I was getting into the front seat of the car someone tried to beat me to the seat, thinking I was holding the door for them and I asked why she thought she could have my seat and she responded, “because, I am a princess.”  I then asked her who told her that she was a princess, she told me that her mother had told her that and I replied with, “I bet she also told you that you were beautiful.”  While she stared at me, dumbfounded, I took the seat. 

Now, before I go further with this story it’s important to note that you don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, you don’t pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger and you don’t mess around with Carol Potter. 

We’ve remained great friends all these years despite my Napoleon and Peter Pan complexes or the time I tried to start a bar fight in a Kentucky Fried Chicken.  She even stayed friends with me after going to see the Holy Father in Rome following a flight where I’d only communicate with the flight attendants using puppets made from the vomit bags and a roommate who drank all the alcohol on the plane. 

Sure, she’s tried to kill me.  She set Kristy’s chickens on Nate and I when we were at Kristy’s little house on the prairie but the examples of her epic much-ness far exceed the times when she tried to push Liz and I into vats at Budweiser – like the time she helped me care for the twelve children I accidentally adopted from Cambodia or the time when she and Nate pretended like I always put a full shaker of peppers on my pizza and then they would use my pizza to pepper theirs.

However great the felicity of our society may be one has to question one of two things, either her judgment is exceedingly terrible or there is an appalling lack of Lutherans available at the present moment because she and her husband (oddly enough, one of the said Cambodian children) have made me the Godparent of one of their children.  As a God Parent I will be responsible for making sure this child has a great education and is showered with gifts, most importantly I will make it my business to make sure the child knows all that I know and is well-equipped for life. 

Sure, it will be hard to find her an autographed picture of Pol Pot but I am confident that there are tiaras for babies and a children’s version of Animal Farm.  It is my greatest ambition that her first words are, “four legs good, two legs bad!”  I’m not a little disappointed that Liz became a Seventh Later Day African Episcopal (or whatever) and disqualified herself from raising a Lutheran children child by satellite because this is a daunting task to undertake on one’s own.  I’m sure the other people who are God Parents are very good, capable people but there are few that match me in terms of enormity of eccentricity.  There is also enough baby-sized argyle that I am not worried about that.  I’m not saying I’m not honored, just daunted and I am pretty confident that they were scrapping the bottom of the proverbial barrel when they dredged me up for this job.

Someone should also warn Texas that I am coming (again).  Houston has survived hurricanes; but can it survive me? 

Comments

[marna]

Oh Lord, I hear some good stories a brewin` don't I:)