Main Ingredients:
child
mechanic
milk
spinach
tattoo

Spice Pack:
1/4 cup of passion
1/2 smidge of embarrassment


No waking up to gospel songs blaring out of 50 inch speakers on the one morning that sleeping in is possible.
No having to give the the creepy old mechanic named Joe that minimal contact “church hug”....
No holding back my Cinnamon Toast Crunch and milk flavored vomit while pretending to respect the old and bitter church mothers.
Oh yeah and one more.
NO PASTORS USING THEIR CHILD’S LIFE ISSUES AS AN EXAMPLE FOR THEIR MESSAGES.

As my girl was going in on the church experience and how grateful she is that she does not have to go anymore, it dawned on my man brain just in time to realize that now might not be the time to share my confession.

I just discovered my love for Jesus Christ and my new church family is awaiting our visit in a few days. Our visit on the one day out of the week she spent two minutes rejoicing the ability to reclaim.

No celebrating fake holidays like Easter by terribly recreating a Jewish Passover dinner with spinach salads and grape juice.
No placing my trust in a book that’s been changed thousands of times over thousands of generations.
No more hearing these same people justifying voting for that orange dumpster because of “Jesus’ will.”

Yikes this is getting worse. Babe not even rocking with organized religion anymore, now I feel like an idiot. I wish that all I had to tell her was that I got a tattoo or something. But I mean I just have to work up the courage.

No more pretending to check my wallet when the tithe bowl…..
Alright hold on babe, I gotta tell you something.
As her big baleful eyes stare at me I panic and blurt out “I’m pregnant.”