Then again, I’m probably not headed in the heavenly direction.
I mean, not when I think about some of the bad things I’ve said over the years. Like the time I said that three-legged dog’s name was probably Eileen. Or that other time I told my husband he dropped his nut sack and handed him back his pistachios. Or even the one when I asked my kid–who’d just had an impressive bout of diarrhea all over the side of an abandoned road–if she was okay or too pooped to go on. In fact, I’m pretty positive I’m not only going to hell, I’m bound for the special hell where people tell really bad knock knock jokes all day long.
But before I get there, it’s Black Bear Cafe, a massive taco salad without the shell and refried beans, and a fork. Thank you, Jesus*.
*Note, this isn’t really a religious post. It’s more of a red Starbucks coffee cup kind of deal. Or maybe this.