making me nervous.
Now, I can see that my poor Grace is heading down the same path. Nowadays, of course, we’d never say she was fat. We use other terms like ‘unhealthy’ or ‘past her ideal BMI’. But already, I can see she has a little gut overhanging the top of her jeans. Don’t get me wrong – I love her the way she is. But when I recall those days from elementary school when my classmates called me ‘Jiggle Belly’, I know that I have to save poor Grace from all of that.
Hence rule number three of the Straight Ten Commandments: no junk food.
But that afternoon, only twenty minutes before coming face-to-grill with the white Volvo, I was standing in line waiting to get my double Bates burger, large fry and a large Coke. A real Coke, that is. Diet is for wimps and diabetics. After I’d paid, and the girl at the cash register placed the greasy, white bag on the counter, I grabbed my food with the enthusiasm of a junkie plunging a needle into her vein. I was in fast food heaven.
Stopping for the Bates burger also made me late for my appointment, which also meant I’d broken rule number six (thou shalt not be late.) And after I saw the SALE sign hanging in the boutique window across the street, I probably would have broken number seven (thou shalt not spend money frivolously), but I died before I had the chance.
Breaking these rules isn’t what sent me to hell, of course, but it certainly entered into the equation. Because if I been paying more attention to where I was walking instead of fiddling with my cell phone, I probably would have seen the car before it hit me. In fact, I might have even changed my destiny. Who’s to say? But one thing’s for sure. If I hadn’t been trying to text my sister, I wouldn’t have broken the biggest rule of them all: number ten. Thou shalt not upload or download porn from the Internet.
But then again, whether or not I actually broke number ten is a matter of opinion. After all, I think everyone agrees that the definition of porn is subjective. What’s pornographic to me, probably isn’t so bad for you. If, for example, you think that using your cell phone to snap a picture of an enormous dildo that is peeking up at you from over the top of a middle-aged woman’s shopping bag and then e-mailing said picture to your stepsister because you want to prove to her that you are not a prude is pornographic, then so be it.
But it probably says a lot more about you than it does me.
The truth is, the sight of that ridiculously huge vibrator gave me the giggles. The owner – a fifty-something, bleached-blonde, leather coat wearing woman – had just come out of a store called the Love Nest. The Love Nest was a porn shop, but a classy porn shop. Classy, because everything in that neighborhood, even the Bates Burgers, was upscale. The woman’s paper shopping bag, unbeknownst to her, had a large rip in the side and the dildo was leaning out of it like it was thinking of escaping. It kept wagging up and down in time to her stride as if trying to make up its mind. This struck me as hilarious.
So, thinking quickly, I took out my cell phone. And the moment I had snapped my picture and sent it to Jas, I looked up in time to see the oncoming car. I caught a glimpse of the vehicle, a white Volvo, and the driver, a man in a white suit, before I felt a terrible jolt as if the hand of God had suddenly jerked me upwards by the back of my collar and hoisted me into the heavens.
It was only later that I understood I hadn’t gone up at all. In fact, I’d gone in the exact opposite direction. The express elevator, as it were, straight to the very bottom.
Hell.
Chapter Two
I don’t think I lost consciousness, but my vision blurred and there were a few, terrifying moments of darkness. Then things slowly faded back in, like the change of scenes in an old movie. Objects took shape: a bookshelf, an end table, a
Now, I can see that my poor Grace is heading down the same path. Nowadays, of course, we’d never say she was fat. We use other terms like ‘unhealthy’ or ‘past her ideal BMI’. But already, I can see she has a little gut overhanging the top of her jeans. Don’t get me wrong – I love her the way she is. But when I recall those days from elementary school when my classmates called me ‘Jiggle Belly’, I know that I have to save poor Grace from all of that.
Hence rule number three of the Straight Ten Commandments: no junk food.
But that afternoon, only twenty minutes before coming face-to-grill with the white Volvo, I was standing in line waiting to get my double Bates burger, large fry and a large Coke. A real Coke, that is. Diet is for wimps and diabetics. After I’d paid, and the girl at the cash register placed the greasy, white bag on the counter, I grabbed my food with the enthusiasm of a junkie plunging a needle into her vein. I was in fast food heaven.
Stopping for the Bates burger also made me late for my appointment, which also meant I’d broken rule number six (thou shalt not be late.) And after I saw the SALE sign hanging in the boutique window across the street, I probably would have broken number seven (thou shalt not spend money frivolously), but I died before I had the chance.
Breaking these rules isn’t what sent me to hell, of course, but it certainly entered into the equation. Because if I been paying more attention to where I was walking instead of fiddling with my cell phone, I probably would have seen the car before it hit me. In fact, I might have even changed my destiny. Who’s to say? But one thing’s for sure. If I hadn’t been trying to text my sister, I wouldn’t have broken the biggest rule of them all: number ten. Thou shalt not upload or download porn from the Internet.
But then again, whether or not I actually broke number ten is a matter of opinion. After all, I think everyone agrees that the definition of porn is subjective. What’s pornographic to me, probably isn’t so bad for you. If, for example, you think that using your cell phone to snap a picture of an enormous dildo that is peeking up at you from over the top of a middle-aged woman’s shopping bag and then e-mailing said picture to your stepsister because you want to prove to her that you are not a prude is pornographic, then so be it.
But it probably says a lot more about you than it does me.
The truth is, the sight of that ridiculously huge vibrator gave me the giggles. The owner – a fifty-something, bleached-blonde, leather coat wearing woman – had just come out of a store called the Love Nest. The Love Nest was a porn shop, but a classy porn shop. Classy, because everything in that neighborhood, even the Bates Burgers, was upscale. The woman’s paper shopping bag, unbeknownst to her, had a large rip in the side and the dildo was leaning out of it like it was thinking of escaping. It kept wagging up and down in time to her stride as if trying to make up its mind. This struck me as hilarious.
So, thinking quickly, I took out my cell phone. And the moment I had snapped my picture and sent it to Jas, I looked up in time to see the oncoming car. I caught a glimpse of the vehicle, a white Volvo, and the driver, a man in a white suit, before I felt a terrible jolt as if the hand of God had suddenly jerked me upwards by the back of my collar and hoisted me into the heavens.
It was only later that I understood I hadn’t gone up at all. In fact, I’d gone in the exact opposite direction. The express elevator, as it were, straight to the very bottom.
Hell.
Chapter Two
I don’t think I lost consciousness, but my vision blurred and there were a few, terrifying moments of darkness. Then things slowly faded back in, like the change of scenes in an old movie. Objects took shape: a bookshelf, an end table, a
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