By disgruntled housewife Sharon Shapitski
Don’t think I haven’t noticed. How could I not?
At first, when you started talking about him, I thought you two was just friends. I remember when Bill Stanley from work introduced you to him. You all met up early Sunday morning, which was sort of weird because the bars and bowling alley are all closed then, but whatever. You seemed so happy when you came home, like you had a new lease on life, so I didn’t ask any questions.
Sure, I remember you talked about him a lot. Talked him up, mostly. He was the best carpenter you ever saw, nice to his mother and extra-special polite to prostitutes. You said he was really wise and told great stories. The way you described it, I could tell he was the leader of your little group. I could imagine the whole group of you sitting around looking up at this Jesus, admiring him. After a while I started to think the whole thing was just strange, especially after you told me about all them fancy tricks you said he could do, which don’t hardly seem normal.
Pretty soon you would never shut up about him. It was “Jesus says” this and “Jesus says” that, and then you started staying out on Wednesday nights to talk about this book he gave you. I don’t know what that’s all about but Mary Louise Snyder down the street is in a book club and they don’t meet but once a month, and every meeting they talk about a new book, not the same one over and over again. And I never heard Mary Louise quote words out of her books like you do with this one you’ve had your head in all these months. Half the time I don’t even understand what you’re saying with all the “thee”s and “thou”s, it sounds like foreigners talking to me.
Even all that, I could’ve been OK with, but when you started saying how Jesus was gonna save you from dying, and if I just believed his tricks I’d go to a special place with him when the world ended—I thought you were off your cracker. But the last straw was when I overhead you promise you’d drink his blood and eat his flesh. Well, that is just disgusting. I don’t know if that’s some kind of weird thing them cannibal homosexuals do, but you can mark my words I won’t stand for that from my husband.
I’ve been trying to exercise and look real nice lately in hopes that you’ll stay home more. Mary Louise says when people go crazy like that for something they’re too far gone and they’ll never come back. This my last plea: Tell me, who is this “Jesus,” and what does he have that I don’t?