Why, God bless you!!!

Friday, February 19, 2010

I get seriously offended if no one says “bless you” after I sneeze. I think it’s rude, honestly. Thanks to my obsessive-compulsive focus on proper etiquette, I’m the kind of girl who falls all over herself to say it to other people when they “Achoo!” all over themselves and their keyboard. But when I sneeze at work, I get nothing but dead silence. Sometimes it bothers me so much I want to scream, “WHY GOD BLESS ME!” to no one in particular, but I already have enough strikes against me in the creepy-weirdo department (I was caught listening to Celine Dion yesterday) Heck, I’d even take a “Gesundheit!” so long as it still means you’re wishing me a life of good health just because I shot snot out my nose and mouth at the same time.

(Bet you wouldn’t believe I typed out 'gesundheit' without having to Google its spelling.)

Me either.

However, my Googling did generate a huge list of common English words that are actually German. I’m gonna try to use “glockenspiel” in a sentence today. To a co-worker. Face-to-face.

But my family is very much German in heritage which may explain my affinity towards pretzels, dachshunds, and wearing socks with my sandals.

*****

In other news, I’ve officially decided to give up sugar for Lent. I’m not even Catholic, but hey, Jesus died for my sins too … which is something I wish the Catholic church would remember when they deny me communion at mass. Even though I’ve professed Christ as my savior and have been publically baptized, I’m not allowed to participate in snack time and have to sit in my wooden pew alone and embarrassed.  When people walk past me and look at me weird, I want to whisper, "Don't worry, I'm not a heathen. I'm just not confirmed".

Regardless, I really wish I would have had the genius thought of giving up sweets before I made a huge pan of brownies last Sunday. I came home from work yesterday and stared longingly at them for about five minutes before I heaved a massive sigh and reached for an apple instead. And apples are gross when you’ve just been eye-raped by a chocolaty dessert.

Mind you, it’s only day 3. I’ll be climbing the walls or ransacking a Dunkin’ Doughnuts by day 40.

I had really considered sacrificing television, but come on, God wants me to be happy.

Clayton opted to give up fast food, which I think is just plain cheating. We haven’t had fast food in ages (we don’t count Subway), so I don’t think him denying himself the grease will be that much of a stretch. But, being the loving, sensitive wife that I am, I plan on bringing home a BK Whopper and sitting on his lap while I eat it … possibly naked.


Knock! Knock!
Who’s There?
It’s me!
Awesome, but next time just ring the glockenspiel.


WIN.

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