"Hell," I mutter, disentangling myself from Sarah without waking her.
Stumbling through the living room to the kitchen, Goddess' tail wags and I sigh loudly.
Spying through the sliding glass doors into a dark night because the moon's already set, I see her glow ... red cigarette tip, smoky halo, dirty white robe almost sliding off her shoulder and exposing her right breast, oily black hair ... it's my Guardian Angel.I haven't seen her in months.
Assuming Jimmy Cochran was keeping her busy, I'd been careful to not ask God for anything lest she show up ... but here she is.
Opening the doors, she stands to greet me ... something she never does ... and sure enough her robe slips further and her right breast pops out.
"Hey Birthday Boy," she says with a grin.
"Aren't you going to cover that?" I ask taking a seat at the table on the Beloved Back Deck.
"Why should I?" she snaps. "You're naked!"
"Whatevs," I sigh glazing at a billion stars overhead.
"I'm just here to wish you a Happy Birthday," she grins and two Styrofoam cups magically appear out of nowhere.
"Wait a minute," I say leaning forward. "Where's your tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon and bourbon chaser?"
"It's your birthday stupid," she snaps. "We're having a birthday toast."
"Oh," I reply with uncertainty ... because she's never this nice.
She slides one of the cups toward me.
"Hey!" I exclaim. "Just where in the Hell have you been."
"Upstate New York," she says.
"What for?" I begin but she angrily cuts me off.
"Listen you stupid ass, I'm here for your frigging birthday! Shut up and let me talk."
I remain nakedly quiet.
"To you on your birthday," she smiles holding up a Styrofoam cup with her right breast still exposed.
Taking a sip of the drink, I almost throw up while swallowing it.
"What the Hell is this?" I cough and choke.
"Purple Jesus," she answers.
"Seriously?" I ask, examining the liquid in the dark cup.
"Yeah," she explains, "we have to wring out the white cloth Catholic Priests use to clean out the chalice and save all of the leftover grapefruit juice Baptists and Methodists use ... because that's the Body of Christ. We mix it together and ... WA-LA ... Purple Jesus!"
"That's disgusting," I snort.
"Well, God started recycling way before anybody else ever thought of it."
I can't think of anything to say.
"Happy Birthday," she says fading away. "I got more important shit to do."
"Hmmm," I sigh still holding onto the empty Styrofoam cup. "Thank you Lord for thinking about me," I say out loud.
Turning towards the sliding glass door, I suddenly stop and look towards the billon blazing stars in the dark sky.
"Hey God! When I get up, I'm going to write down the things I want for my birthday. It's not a lot! A winning Lottery Ticket ... that's all!"
It thunders in the distance.
"Thank you Lord," I say returning to the wonderfulness of my sleeping wife.
