My Apologies to St. Joseph

Have I mentioned we are trying to sell our house? Yes? Okay, then you may recall that a sweet Catholic friend gave me a statue of St. Joseph to bury in our yard. 

I wanted to bury him with Bailey's, but CH said that was sacrilegious, and I reminded CH about the priest who was drunk a lot when CH was an altar boy, or my Catholic neighbor who drank vodka in her morning coffee when I was a kid, but he still thought it was wrong and would offend God.  Raisins seemed like the obvious second choice, because they are nutritious, they keep you regular, and the Sun Maid Raisin Girl is a hot biscuit and could keep St. Joseph company while he focused on selling my house.

I was so wrong.

After my first open house, where we had over 20 different groups of people come through and look, I didn't get any calls in the first few days.  I couldn't understand it - everyone talked about how much they loved the house!  Then, I found this:

Yes, this is the EXACT, UNDISTURBED scene I found in my flower bed.  St. Joseph's home-selling contemplating spot had been disturbed by some rat bastard chipmunks, and to make matters worse, the Sun Maid Raisin Girl had been defiled.  How much must St. Joseph endure?  NO WONDER my phone wasn't ringing!  The connection had been severed.  I took St. Joseph out, cleaned him up a little bit, and apologized.  Then I reburied him with this:

Because St. Joseph could probably use some new threads, and I'd just like to see you TRY to get $10 off at Aeropostale, you rat bastard chipmunks.  Can't eat a bargain, can you!?!  And, WORRIED MUCH ABOUT GOING TO HELL, CHIPMUNKS?  Because you have disturbed a holy place.  I suspect my chipmunks are Baptists.

But then I really started thinking about the situation, and I was troubled.  Was his tomb truly disturbed, or had he pushed the boulder away from the entrance of his crypt and forced the Sun Maid Raisin Girl out because she was a tart?  Was this a miracle?  I'm a lapsed Methodist, so I'm not well versed in the rites of Catholicism.  This is why I have Catholic drinking reading buddies.  After speaking with them, I decided to cover my bases:

A)  Call up my Catholic friends for support.  This is my friend Angie, a fellow college Chi Omega.  She is a very good Catholic girl, and she agreed to meet me for coffee and send some of her Catholic ju-ju my way.  Just look at her!  Isn't she adorable?  It makes you want to grab your rosary, doesn't it guys?  Well fuggetaboutit, she's taken by a good Catholic boy.  That's right.  I double dipped.

B) Make George the Superpet read the entire Catholic version of the Bible.  It was exhausting work, but I gave him a Beggin' Strip for every Book he read.  He learned a lot, and it's sort of irritating because now he barks every time I sin.  BARK BARK BARK all day long.  Enlightened dogs are SO overrated.

  Do you see the Blessed Mother on my toast?

C)  Pray until I get a sign.  I prayed the prayer that comes in the St. Joseph box.  It's kind of a long prayer, but full of nice things to say, and you feel like you've done something pure and good when you are done.  After the second or third time, my toast popped up, and lo and behold, the Blessed Mother, the Virgin Mary, appeared to me on a slice of split-top wheat.  It wasn't a huge surprise, because another Catholic friend sent me the Virgin Mary template to make Holy Toast, and I used it for the first time (the Virgin slice?) while saying the prayer, because it seemed like the right thing to do.  However, all of the praying made me very hungry.

Uh oh.  Father forgive me, for I am about to sin....

 Not on my Medifast plan.  The devil made me do it.

 George the Superpet was very hungry 

after all of that reading.

JIF is his kryptonite.

As soon as I reburied St. Joseph with the gift card and had coffee with my Catholic friend, the calls started coming in.  I've shown the house a bunch this week, and there are some seemingly interested people.  Plus, we had another busy open house today.  But I'm a little nervous because I ate the Mary Toast tonight, and I feel like God may frown upon that.  So let me take this moment to apologize.  I am weak, Lord.  Tomorrow is first day of the rest of my life.  And even though I am a Methodist, I respect my Catholic friends, especially because they always bring wine when they visit.  George the Superpet is barking again.  Wish me luck!