My First Confession

Forgive me, Reader, for I have sinned. This is my first blogged confession.

My first week back to work was stressful for me, and I wasted away my off-hours in trivial pusuits such as beach volleyball. My sin is worse than just a lack of industrious endeavors, (or "sloth,") however. Please bear with me.

Of these games, (twice a week, weather permitting,) I have bragged to my wife in regards to their health benefits and exercise and the like. What I kept from her, (a lie of omission, you might say, for sin #2, if keeping score,) is that between games, I would recoup and regroup in the fashion of my teammates; with beer and cigarettes. Yes, my trusted confidantes, I smoked.

Now, frankly, this would be no big deal had I not quit smoking ten, (or so,) years ago, as I began my wedded life with the missus. A relapse would have surely be seen as a disappointment to her, hence my lie.

To make matters worse, I found myself in Staples one evening after a game, getting some supplies before heading home. While there, I noticed the smell of cigarettes on my hands. In order to hide this smell from my wife, (or compound the lie. We'll make that sin #3!) I decided to clean my hands. As I walked the aisles, I saw a bottle of Purell that had been opened and I chose to swipe a little for my deceptive puposes, ("theft;" sin #4.)

I took a squirt or two, (okay, three,) and began to vigorously rub the tell-tale odor from my hands. Almost immediately, I noticed how viscous the Purell was. Thick and very sticky, too. I looked down and saw the luxurious dry lather I was building and then noticed that I had not stolen a shot or three from a dispenser of Purell, but from a bottle of clear SoftSoap.

I was all soaped up and without any water and in the middle of Staples.

Fortunately, being a goofball is not a sin, so THAT doesn't count toward my running tally. I wiped my hands off on my lower pant leg, made my way through the registers, and went home. I was a little proud of the smoke-masking scent that I had inadvertently covered my hands with, however, ("pride;" Sin #5. Making a grand total of five sins that I am repenting today.)

For my penance, Dear Reader, I shall promise to not have another cigarette, at least until the next volleyball game, and I will have nothing more alcoholic to drink for the rest of my evening.

Thank you for listening. I feel purged, and pure once again.

Uke Confession

Indulge me for a moment, whilst I purge my transgressions...

Not long back, I woke up one Saturday morning, (okay, I came to early one Saturday afternoon,) and went to check my email. 

I was greeted with a “Congratulations! You won this auction.” Of course, my curiosity was piqued, as I had no, (or at least, very few,) recollections from the previous night due to my extensive, (and intensive,) research into the perfect Mai Tai recipe!

Well apparently, I had gone online the night before, and not only bid on, but won, and paid for, a $65.00 ukulele just because it was shaped like a telecaster.

Ah Crap! I knew I was in deep doo-doo, so I decided to keep this from the missus. She does not believe in, nor understand the depths of U.A.S., (Ukulele Acquisition Syndrome, for the acronymically limited,) and has voiced her disapproval with the amount of stringed-instrument purchases I have made in the past: ukuleles, mandolins, Irish Bouzoukis, banjos, even a fiddle or two, all littering about the house accomplishing little more than reminding us both of my limitations as a musician, (or, more positively, my excessive success as ten-thumbed, noise-polluter!)

On the very day it had arrived, Cheryl, (the missus,) discovered the UPS slip, (by actually digging through my back pocket, no less! Fortunately, I wasn’t concealing anything more incriminating... That time!) She pulled it from my pocket and glared at me, “What’s this?”

Stymied, I stammered, “I can explain! I was drunk!” 

(Okay, pause here for a reality check! If you are ever in a position where you think “I was drunk!” can successfully follow the sentence, “I can explain,” you should know now, you have already lost your argument.)

Her first words were, “It isn’t another stringed instrument, is it?” At this point, I saw the futility of my predicament and had given up on trying to get out of the hole I had dug myself into, and I went with an excited, “You wanna see it?”

Okay, I was chastised for my impulse purchasing habits, and was reprimanded for my EWI, (Ebaying While Intoxicated,) and scolded for my attempts to hide my new acquisition from my wife, but, c’mon, it’s pretty cool looking isn’t it?