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A Sunday Satire

A Sunday Satire

It’s Sunday morning, the house is eerily quiet. No one is nagging you to help with homework, the housework is done, or at least close enough. Your kids are at their friend’s houses for a change; your husband is hanging out with “the boys” for the afternoon. The living room is empty.

Excitedly, you run to the kitchen, grab a glass, fill it with ice and your favorite beverage—iced tea, since it’s still too early for Margaritas. You direct yourself to the living room, pop in a little classical music for the background, and jump into that recliner you would normally have to take a number for. The book that you’ve been trying to read for a few months now is just lying on the end table begging to be picked up and read.

The excitement of a little “me time” is almost too much to contain—you squirm with joy. Finally, you think to yourself. Book in hand, you open it, take a sip of your drink, and indulge in the comfort of your surroundings ... and then, you have to pee. I’ll hold it, you think to yourself ... but you begin rocking side to side, the words of the pages start to blur as if your eyes themselves were about to burst, you give in, and charge for the bathroom.

Moments pass as did the urine and you find yourself back in your comfort zone. As you relax with your book, your feet suddenly feel like icicles and you require the blanket that is in the cedar chest on the other side of the room. Yet again, you get up, walk across the room, grab your favorite throw, drape it across the bottom half of your body, and nestle into the recliner on your journey to ... knock, knock! Someone is at the door. Depending on what type of book you are reading, you are either too annoyed to answer the door as it will take you away from the impending romantic vision you are receiving ... or it is a mysterious person who is there to murder you. Could it be your kids? Are they locked out? Is it your husband? Did he forget how to use the key again? The girl scouts are usually selling their evil cookies at the grocery store these days. Who could possibly be knocking at the door in the middle of a Sunday afternoon? After a moment, you wait. If it’s important, they’ll knock agai ... knock, knock! 

Fine, you think to yourself. Annoyed, you get up, walk over to the front door, and open it. At this point, the mysterious stranger had better kill you quickly or they will receive a death far worse than they could imagine. Standing there in your doorway you hear, “Have you heard the good word?” To which you reply, “I’ve been trying to read a few good words all day.”

“I won’t take up your time; I would just like to leave you some literature to read.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Read? When can I read? How on earth will I have time to read?”

At this point you have hit your breaking point ... and you utter words you never thought would leave your mouth, your eyes start to twirl in black and white pinwheels, you are speaking in tongues, your hair stands straight on edge, and steam begins to rise from the back of your neck. You catch your breath, and look up to find a terrified individual staring back at you. They keep their literature and offer to pray for you—to which you thank them and close the door.

Now, where was I? Oh ... book! Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. You decide to put the book back on the end table and read your e-mail instead. Classical music comes out of the CD player, you grab your daughter’s iPod and blare “Bullet for my Valentine” and turn on your PC. YAHOO-OOO! Right next to your sign in box you notice an article that grabs your attention on “Lucid Dreaming” and immediately become intrigued. You normally do not allow yourself to stray away from the goal at hand ... yeah right. Did you pay attention to the events from your day at all? So you, once again, will not be reading your e-mail, and the iPod comes out for absolute quiet. The article was short, informative, intriguing, and then you realize this website is pretty cool. You find yourself reading a few more short stories in between bathroom breaks and opting for the comfy socks. The phone rings, you glance at the number, it’s a telemarketer (no thanks), and you continue on your new form of enjoyment. But that is not all! You can actually write your own stories and give opinions on the articles! I want to be a part of this, you say to yourself, you become a member, and now you can have your “me time” with divinecaroline.com.  


 

 

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