I’m getting mixed signals from Kroger:
Speaking of confusion, how do pickles have zero calories? Zero calories? Come on now, Mr. Pickle. You’re not a diet Coke, which leaves me baffled as to how you’ve pulled this off:
Speaking of pulling the wool over my eyes, remember the produce police I met a few weeks ago? The one who warns the world against paying for water on your cabbage? So ever since then I’ve kind of been half-heartedly shaking off my kale before dropping it into my buggy. Until I noticed THIS:
To the woman who accosted me in the produce aisle, warning, “Don’t pay for water!”, please refund me the 78 seconds of my life I’ve spent over the last four weeks shaking off kale that is sold PER STALK and not per pound. And please include a bottled water to refund all the free water I could have taken home had I ignored your advice. Thank you.
Speaking of brainwashing, I signed up for a full year of CrossFit. Currently, I am the slowest and weakest human in the gym (one time they brought a dog in and I am moderately convinced that I can dead lift more than a Chow-Shepherd mix). Last night after a class in which I’d lifted less weight than all the other humans and finished last on a timed workout, I told Benson how perplexing it is to be in what I consider really good shape, but consistently come in last on everything we do.
And here’s why I love him so much…
He said, “But you know what? You’re such a witness. When you come in last, you don’t get upset about it, and that’s a testament to your faith. Your attitude when you come in last is a witness for Jesus.”
Just doing what I can for the Kingdom, folks! See, my poor performance is ministry. This basically means that the people who snatch two-hundred and twenty pounds are like, totally not spiritual. Well, until I manage to lift that much. Then I’ll be all, “Jesus in tha HOUSE, suckas!” as I get all up in my classmates’ faces.
Until then, I’ll be here, chugging along for the Gospel, one slow, puny squat at a time.