Musings —01.31.2011 08:04 PM—
So, there I was, heading to work out at the little gym in my condo building, and one of the concierge people – the nice one, the only one I like – approached me. He told me there had been a “complaint” about me.
I don’t want to give away the ending, Almighty Person, but this is one of those times that I am pleading with You (begging, actually) that the complaint goes ahead. Please, God. Please.
I don’t know if it will. The fact that I burst out laughing, and insisted that the Nice Concierge take all of my contact information so that the complainants may more readily find me, may have suggested to him that further official action is inadvisable at this time. You already know what will happen, natch, but you aren’t talking.
Being my Creator, you also know that I live for moments like this. You made me, after all: you know that I regard peacetime as indescribably dull. As one of my lawyer friends (whose identity you know) explained to another lawyer friend (ditto) one night: “Warren doesn’t sue because his feelings are hurt. He doesn’t have feelings. He sues because he enjoys it. It’s his entertainment.”*
But I digress, Lord. This is all I am asking for, Yahweh. Please give me this, just this, and I’ll be super-good, and for the foreseeable future, too. Or next month, whichever comes first.
* Okay, fine, it was BFF Brian Shiller talking to BFF David Shiller. Way to wreck part of the story. W/e.