The Funniest Thing

I went to National Night Out last night, which, far from being a chance to get to know my actual neighbors on my actual street, in my neighborhood is more like a subdivision pool party. Anyway. While I was there, I was talking to a friend of mine. Her young son dropped his hot dog bun on the ground and started to cry.
Her husband said, "It's ok, just Baby Jesus it."
And my friend picked up the hot dog bun, brought it close to her mouth, said, "Baby Jesus!" and gave it to her son.
Upon noticing my slack-jawed, open-eyed gaze, she said, "When I was young, my cousins and I decided that if you drop food, as long as you observe the ten-second rule and say, 'Baby Jesus' over the food, it's safe."
So, I turned to her husband, who otherwise seems like a perfectly normal kind of guy, the kind of guy who would mow your lawn for you while you're out of town. "So...are you one of her cousins, or did you just pick up on the insanity when you married her?"
It was the latter, in case you're wondering.
I know that people pick up stuff from their spouses. Everyone in my family says, "Oh, my goodness" just like me. And if you see a picture of a formerly hot celebrity for whom the years have not been kind, you say, "How are the mighty fallen", and so on.
So, here's a tip for extra food safety, straight from the wilds of Houston, Texas: Baby Jesus your fallen food!

Not The Day I'd Planned

My bible study group on Sunday discussed the Sabbath. I remember an old pastor of mine, Doug Pratt, saying years ago that Americans work at their play, worship their work, and play at their worship. I envy the observant Jews who actually take a day of rest. Sundays for me are not a day of rest since I work at church. Monday through Friday, of course it's getting kids ready for school, housework, errands and so on.
The problem is I feel guilty when I rest, because I am surrounded by Things To Do.

Really?

So, I'm paying bills yesterday, and I notice that we're still paying $25 a month automatically to pay off the set of encyclopedias that Mike ordered. And I realize that I haven't gotten a statement from them lately.
So I call.
The lady finds our account, and asks what she can do for me.
Me: What's our balance?
Lady: Oh. Well, it looks like you have a $150 credit balance.

Really? So, we've been overpaying for SIX MONTHS and y'all didn't even notice?