Let us pray…
Our father, who art holed up in the bedroom for the past 36 hours with the infernal suffering of a “godforsaken infliction,” I am definitely cursing thy name.
Thy man-cold come, nothing will be done, on any of the housework while he whimpers and whines and acts like he’s the only one in this family who’s ever had a cold. Mother of God.
Give us this day our daily hit of ibuprofen, Neo Citron, and double shots of Benadryl. And god forbid, don’t forget a Coke chaser to get those drugs moving through his system faster — this thing has “really got a hold of him.” Never mind that I pushed out eight pounds of squirming flesh and blood without an epidural. Twice. Because daddy thought “natural” was the way to go. No, please, tell me again how chaffed your nostrils are from that “scratchy” tissue I bought on sale at Costco.
Oh, and here’s your daily goddamn toast.
Forgive us our trespasses, which at this point include the fact that little Suzy tried to practice the flute, Johnny wanted to invite a friend over to play inside, and that lemon tea I delivered almost “scalded” the roof of his mouth. Jesus H.
As we forgive those who apparently are “not sympathetic enough” and “lack patience.” Are you kidding me? Do I look like Mother Theresa? Or Job? Funny how last month when I had a cold the meals still got made, the kids got to all their extracurriculars, and the whole household wasn’t put on high alert for what “could be” symptoms of meningitis or hemorrhagic fever. Bloody hell.
And lead us not into temptation, and this is a big one, because holy, my spirit is drained. And I’m about to text Joe, the cute plumber, for a little service call, and he looks like the kind of guy who wouldn’t let a bit of congestion stop him from cleaning the pipes, if you know what I mean.
But deliver us from (what has not euphemistically been referred to as) “evil incarnate” and “way worse than when the whole family got stomach flu in Punta Cana that year.” Dios Santo.
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory…
Yup, honest to God — it is still thine. Forget about the woman’s movement, and “progress” and #FightThePatriarchy… for Christ’ sake you guys still rule the world when you can’t even weather the damn sniffles for 48 hours. But, hey, thank the Lord you’re making more than 77 cents on the dollar for your sick pay. Jesus, please don’t let this go on
Forever and ever…