You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl-Observations on Life From the Shallow End of the Pool by Celia Rivenbark

Author:Celia Rivenbark
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Non-Fiction, Humour, Writing
ISBN: 9780312614201
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin
Published: 2011-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

16

What’s Farsi for “Stay Outta My Love Life”?

As a churchgoing woman, I’m getting more than a little tired of hearing about all these pastors who are instructing their congregations to, well, do it. And do it a lot.

As we Southern Methodists like to say, “Settle down, Reverend, you’ve done gone from preachin’ into meddlin’.

It’s a trend, hons, and I’m here to tell you that it’s scarier than the words “First Dude Todd Palin.” Nah, I’m kidding. Nothing’s scarier than that. (Except, perhaps, that I just this morning learned that pumpernickel, which I love, is literally translated to mean “goblin who breaks wind.” Scary, right?)

But getting back to bidness, the Associated Press reports that ministers in Kansas, Florida, and Texas have asked, nay, instructed, ordained, and decreed, that their married congregants make hot monkey love for up to thirty days in a row.

Now I totally get that you’d do that in Kansas, because once basketball season winds down, really, what else is there to do? Take your time answering that; I’ll wait. Still waiting. But Florida? Did they shut down Disney and nobody told me?

In Texas, the Reverend Ed Young has challenged couples in his Dallas church to have seven straight days of sex. Upon hearing this, a Tampa minister said he’d recommend thirty straight days of sex. Big D, indeed. I’m guessing Rev. Young will up the ante to “Every married couple will have sex every day for ten years period, so nanny nanny boo boo, stick your head in doo doo.”

And while I like a little healthy competition in most things, this seems more than a tad intrusive. Here’s how I look at it: At my church, we recently had a contest between all the Sunday school classes to see which class could bring in the most cans of soup for the local food pantry. Bottom line: I don’t think the homeless give a happy damn if a bunch of Methodists they don’t even know personally are feet-to-Jesus thirty days a month just because the preacher says we should be, but I’m pretty sure they’re fired up about those twenty-four hundred cans of soup.

Pastor Bob is a fine fella in every way (except a pesky allegiance to the vile Duke Blue Devils, owing to an unfortunate stint at divinity school there), but I can tell you that if he ever stood up in the pulpit and instructed us to “get busy,” I’d run outta there like my clothes were on fire.

So, yes, I’m grateful not to be in the Kansas congregation of the Reverend Timmy Gibson, who recently asked his church members to have sex every day during the month of February. I’m guessing he selected February because it’s the month of love, also groundhogs, but I’m guessing he was thinking about love.

The icky thing was he didn’t call it sex. He called it “hanky-panky.”

Hanky-panky?

This calls to mind the practiced faux blush of Bob Eubanks, host of the old Newlywed Game back in the ’70s. (Quick aside: Remember the

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