Today, I had to send my husband to the store to pick up some staples such as milk, bread, and cheese. Before he left, we both finished watching the Packers game. During one commercial break, the Wisconsin Lottery was advertising their “Holiday Countdown” scratch game. Therefore, before he finally set off to the nearest convenience store, I added this item to my list of necessary purchases.
“Honey, buy me that calendar countdown card too,” I said. I didn’t ask, “Honey, will you …?” I just told him “buy this.” I can be a real bitch like that sometimes. I don’t intend to come across like this; I think it’s a disorder. If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll recall that my husband has diagnosed me with “Bitch Tourette’s.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, with clear confusion regarding the item I had demanded he purchase.
“The lottery ticket thing we saw during the game,” I tried to explain, failing to recall that he had excused himself to the bathroom during that particular commercial break. While I witnessed the uncertainty that remained on his face, I further attempted to clarify, “It’s a scratch game for every day of the holiday season. You know, it’s just like an advent calendar.”
When he looked back at me after this comparison, it was as though he was looking at me with his mother’s eyes, judging me for my obviously blasphemous statement.
|Is it blasphemy to ask you to pray that I win? Hmmm ...|
To those unaware, the word ‘advent’ has a Latin origin meaning “the coming,” and for Christian believers, the practice of advent began as a means of celebrating the greatest gift ever given by God to mankind – the birth of his son and our savior Jesus Christ. Originally, this period was acknowledged with a mark of chalk upon the doors of believers. Eventually, the observance of advent, like most holiday traditions, became a mark of consumerism and profit rather than a celebration of God’s gift to us.
Okay, so advent is meant to celebrate the birth of Christ, and not intended to celebrate cash winnings. Again, I didn’t intend for my comment to be blasphemous; sometimes words just spew out of my mouth like vomit. Perhaps we should call that “Bitch Bulimia,” which would probably be just as politically correct and sensitive as the former diagnosis.
At any rate, I felt it was a fairly accurate analogy. Despite my husband’s look of disapproval, he understood my meaning and brought the correct lottery card home. And quite frankly, I feel it would be a magnificent gift to me if God were to help this girl out with a $100,000 win. While this gift would not be as wonderful as my salvation, it would still be pretty damn awesome. I think Christ wants me to have a hot tub.