taxing

The Pastor proposed to me in March.

We got married three weeks later.

I attributed this whirlwind courtship to the things my fantastical romantic imagination usually comes up with: love, passion, romance, unmitigated desire and spring fever.

Five years later, I have removed the rose colored glasses. I had to in order to work with all the receipts, numbers and spreadsheets.

Now I know it wasn't any of the things I thought. It was tax season.

I have been saving receipts, organizing receipts, filing receipts and entering numbers into spreadsheets all year. And people? Let's just say Math Barbie wasn't my favorite doll. Each year the Pastor is - very sneakily - growing more and more removed from the entire process. All he had to do this year was sit with me for an hour and read some data so I could finalize everything.

It was at that meeting that I had to make a choice. I was conflicted - should I put up with my whining, petulant husband ("I don't wannnnnnnnnnnnnna look at the receipts!" I'm sleepy!") or start making up stuff, commit tax fraud, and go to prison.

It was a tough call, but don't worry, I did the right thing.

The Pastor owes me big time now. My fantastical imagination is at it again - wondering what he is going to buy me for all this hard work.

That'll be one receipt that mysteriously disappears.

remember the Sabbath and keep it skinny

Today I was once again reminded how my weekly weigh in and weight loss meeting is more of a religious experience for me than actually going to church.

There is definitely prayer. No one prays harder than a woman on a scale.

There's confession and contrition as I review the journal of every morsel of food I've put in my mouth over the past week. And the food I conveniently forgot to write down. And the food I was too horrified to write down.

There's a bible. It's confusing too - with numbers and calories and fat grams and points and exchanges.

There's a sermon about what I'm supposed to do, or not do.

I feel moved to be a better person. A thinner, healthier person. A person who doesn't hate exercise. The kind of person who will go forth and eat Mexican food no more. (This usually lasts about two hours.)

There's an offering. What - you thought you could lose weight for free? Then you must be a guy and probably don't even care about the number on the scale.

What's even worse is I'm better behaved. I must be more afraid of getting fat than I am of ticking off Jesus, because I do not play with my cell phone, doodle, whisper or watch Sex and the City in my head. I concentrate. And unlike church where I dress to the nines, I never care about how I look. I even wear the same outfit every single Tuesday ever since I determined it weighed less than anything else I own. Yes, there was valuable time involved where I could have fed the poor or ministered to the homeless, but instead I weighed all my clothes.

One more similarity - just as soon as it's over, I'm headed to Starbucks.

There's always next week.