The weekend before Halloween, my church put on Revelation House, a production of vignettes designed to tell the Gospel in true-to-life (and sometimes raw) ways. We take weeks preparing for it with rehearsals, set design and construction, costume designs and constructing. It was exhausting to say the least.
The afternoon of opening night, I laid down on the couch to take a small siesta to prepare for the long night ahead. Netflix is always very ready to assist me in my siestas, and Friday was no exception. I clicked on What You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her. Just the type of show to bore the snot out of me and put me into a deep sleep quickly, I thought. And it did, but not as quickly as I’d thought. I got about a half hour into it before I started snoozing, and I got about 15 minutes of snoozing before the kids came home from school.
They came in and gave me a kiss, and I told them to grab their snacks and start their homework while I tried to wake up. I don’t wake easily. Ever.
They bustled about getting their snacks and preparing the kitchen table to start their homework. I tried focusing on the dialogue of the movie that was still playing to help me wake up, but all I could hear was F and Z chittering and giggling at the table. I told them to quit messing around and get busy on their homework. We had to leave the house early because it was opening night of Revelation House. There was some more giggling and right about the time I was going to repeat myself a bit more assertively, F asks, as if totally in shock, “Mom, what are you watching?!” And she follows it up with an uninhibited laugh.
I roll my eyes open in time to see Matt Craven’s bare backside plastered across my television screen. Although, he’s not hard to look at fully clothed and in the face, his lily-white rump took me by surprise. I instantly groped for the remote that was on the arm of the couch above my head to click the TV off. What I did was grab the Wii remote and paused the movie with Craven’s frozen butt crack staring back at us. This made the kids laugh even harder. Z almost fell out of his chair, and F yelled, “Mom!” As if I wasn’t aware that there was an old man’s buttocks frozen in space on our living room wall.
“Cry-minelli!” I chuckled at the absurdity of the situation, sat up, grabbed the correct remote and shut off the television. The kids were almost in tears and I was too embarrassed to do anything but laugh. “Get back to work before I spank you both for watching indecent movies,” I teased them.
They did manage to get a bit of their homework finished before we headed out to minister to the lost of South Tipton and North Shelby Counties, but I will never hear the end of it.
They think naked butts are funny.