We're drinking beers and working on our naked tans.
"As a matter of fact," I press, leaning forward pointing my beer bottle in Her face, "how come you never invite me to your place?"
As usual God remains tight lipped and doesn't answer.
"Well, it's just not right that I'm always the host and you never are," then I giggle out loud before saying, "Well, except at Catholic Mass where you're always the Host ... then they eat you."
God flashes a smile just as She's taking a swig of her St. Pauli Girl and some dribbles down her chin.
"I know," I laugh, "I'm pretty funny."
She flips over to tan the back side Moses once saw and I'm glad Sarah's not home to see her new chase lounge is being used before my wife ever had a chance to open it up.
Lou Reed and The Velvet Underground blast "Femme Fatale" from the speakers and I say, "Nice choice!" tipping my beer towards God.
She flashes that beatific smile that only God has back at me.
It's a beautiful day!
God gave clouds the day off so it's a deep blue sky with a giant yellow ball hanging bathing us in warm sunshine.
Purple Wisteria drips limply in Fran's thousand shades of green as there is no ocean breeze though we can hear waves crashing in the distance.
A chain saw cranks up and a group of brown men start banging the hell out of the house behind where Sarah and I live.
God's head pops up, obviously perturbed and the Tybee cops show up out of nowhere issuing a "STOP WORK" order and arresting three illegal immigrants and two permanent, tax paying, long term residents.
"Nicely played," I say.
A choir of birds appear and sing in perfect harmony with Lou Reed.
"How did you? ..." I begin.
"Shut up and enjoy the day," God finally says. "You always want more! I've given you a perfectly good day, your wife looks hotter than Hell, the girls won't be home for hours, and you're bitching."
As She flips over to tan her front side I say, "You're right. You're always right. You're God. You want another beer?"
She gives me the "okay" sign so I stumble into the kitchen and grab two more bottles.
Drinking her beer in one guzzle I exclaim, "For Christ's sake are you in a hurry or something?"
A car door slams and Sarah's home.
God's gone from the Beloved Back Deck leaving two empties under my wife's perfectly unused chase lounge.
"Hmmm," I ponder as Sarah bounces up the stairs wearing tight little booty shorts and dripping with sweat.
Giving a quick glance over my shoulder I say, "Hey thanks. I don't deserve all this."
Out of nowhere, on a cloudless perfect day, I hear thunder that sounds just like laughter.
"Well played," I say again and then dive into my day ... literally.
