Man Church

I boycotted Father's Day this year. Not for the expected reason. I just couldn't handle another Man Church spectacle. Last year the theme (yes, there's a theme) was sports. Because fathers are practically men, and men like sports. (On Mother's Day this same church taught me -- again -- that woman and mother are synonyms.)

Last Father's Day, I walked into the church building and grabbed a water bottle from one of two giant ice troughs, declined the free popcorn, and headed up to the balcony. The excitement was almost as palpable as the spilled popcorn underfoot. I looked down onto what used to be the stage but was now a mini football field. The musicians were wearing baseball -- basketball -- whatever kind of jersey they could find, I guess.

The next hour and a half was a blur of cheerleaders, a dancing mascot, clips of sportscasters, a referee blowing the whistle on the pastor's (rehearsed) bad jokes, halftime entertainment, live competitions, prizes, and T-shirts launched into the congregation audience. Oh yeah, and there was even a sermon. The pastor's talk was divided into four quarters and that was my takeaway. (I'm sure all the dads remember the message though because they would have gotten the football analogy.) What I do remember: doing the wave. Or sitting there in a stupor while everyone else did the wave, more likely. I kept forgetting and remembering that I was at a church worship gathering as if I were going in and out of consciousness.

This year the theme was Nascar. I just couldn't.

Fishing is not my default activity.

Why stop the mundanity now? I have yet to empty myself of grocery shopping rants.

In my avoidance of grocery Monopoly, I made the mistake of shopping the Walmart "neighborhood market." (I like to pretend this is better than the regular Walmart, but if it is, it's only quantitatively because it's smaller.) First a customer asked me if I was buying my "bicycle vegetables," which, now that I think of it, could have been a concerned inquiry as to what I'm feeding my bicycle. But I don't think so; the stress made it sound like bicycle was meant as an adjective. Or perhaps he was creating a compound noun? There's no such thing as bicycle-vegetables, odd stranger. It seemed his entire purpose in uttering incohesive phrases at me was to let me know that he saw me outside, which is just creepy and stalker-ish.

Then the cashier. Rang up my grapes, told me how much they cost and asked if I still wanted them. For a moment I wondered if this was a trick question because they cost the same amount when I actively picked them up and put them in my cart. Nothing has changed! Why would my mind? Apparently Walmart cashiers are not accustomed to people knowing how to use multiplication. Then he inexplicably asked me if I was going fishing, and when I said no, he asked, "Why not?!"

I guess he didn't know my bike is a vegetarian. And a cannibal. I don't know.