Something incredible happened the other day. I was eating a peach. No, really, I was eating an actual peach. That’s not some kind of double entendre / porn code. So, I’m eating this peach and Wifesy calls down to me from the lofty part of our loft space.
“God dang it,” she said.
(Sorry, but we both like to cuss like hillbillies whenever we can.)
“God dang it! My workout pants are ruined.”
“Huh?” I said as I slurped at my succulent peach.
“Ruined! My workout pants are ruined!”
I put the peach down because my baby was in a panic. “Surely, you’re exaggerating,” I said with all the interrupted peach-eating, calm I could muster.
“No! They’re ruined! Ruined.”
I sighed. “Okay, throw them down,” I said.
Wifesy and I have a new game, here, at the lodge, and it involves throwing things. I can not tell you how much fun it is. One of us stands in the loft area by the bed and the other one on the ground floor. The one on the ground floor starts chucking shoes, wildly, up over the banister into said loft area, while the other one tries to catch them like a deranged goalie. We love doing it. But, Wifesy didn’t sling her workout pants down to me with the usual gusto. She let them drift down from the loft above like a feather from off her favorite pet bird who must’ve just died.
My Wifesy has a penchant for drama. (As do I.)
I watched the workout pants drift down from above (these are very light pants) and I caught them in my loving arms, just as I heard Wifesy let out a whimper.
It seemed her black workout pants were covered in a bright, white, fuzz. I laid them across the table and began surgery. Surgery, in this case, included the use of a massive lint brush and gently moving it back and forth across the “ruined” workout pants, until all the fuzz was gone. I presented the re-birthed pants to Wifesy who looked down at the ground as if to say, “sorry” without really saying it. That’s good enough for me.
You see, this bright, white, fuzz wrecks havoc all across our dark colored clothing whenever I make the atrocious mistake of washing one of our white bath towels with our workout gear. This happens because I’m a cheapskate with silly things like refusing to pay for an extra washing machine when I can easily stick these feckin’ workout pants in with the towels.
After Wifesy’s episode, I looked through the rest of our clean laundry to see if anymore fuzzy particles were clinging around and causing trouble.
That’s when I discovered it — THE GOD PARTICLE. It was right there, with lots of apostle-like friends, clinging to my yoga headband.
I’ve always wanted to be part of something that no one understands. Sort of like performance art.
What makes this fuzz different from all other fuzz? IT WON’T FECKIN’ COME OFF. THAT’S WHAT. And only a God Particle would cling to an article of clothing in such an ungodly manner.
At first I was angry with the God Particle. Why won’t you come off, you Jack-hole of a jackrabbit? Remove yourself. Go, elsewhere. Cling to the clothing of someone who has lost faith. Clearly, I haven’t as I’m still writing and doing comedy without making any money whatsoever. If that’s not faith, then I don’t know what is.
And then it happened. The God Particle started glowing. Let’s get a closer look.
God, is that you?
I fell to my knees. I raised the yoga headband into the air and shined the god particle all over the room, just like I do when I use the flashlight app on my android phone.
Slowly, I started to feel differently. I was no longer angry at the God Particle. I was happy. I was so happy she was there with all her feckin’ friends. I put the headband on. I danced about and then a few amazing things happened. I’ve since learned that lots of awesome happens when you come into this close of contact with the God Particle. A small grouping of scientists somewhere in Geneva have backed up my findings.
If you come into direct contact with a God Particle, don’t be angry, rejoice, because the following just might happen to you:
You’ll instantly lose 50 lbs. (Important note, keep the God Particle away from babies much like propecia pills because most of them will disappear if they were to instantly lose 50 lbs.)
An image of gold bullions will flash through your mind. You’ll open your eyes and before you will be the biggest pile of chicken broth bouillons you could ever imagine. This is the moment you will realize that spelling is important. Even a dream typo can cause a problem when dealing with a God Particle or a government agency.
You’ll be filled with love for everyone, even those who don’t deserve it.
You’ll start to sing like an angel.
A warm sensation will start to run over your body and then you’ll smell it – cake batter. Suddenly, unbelievably, your hair smells like cake batter.
People start to gather at your apartment door. It’s the cake scent wafting through the community that’s bringing them in. “Wow, what’s that heavenly smell?” asks your neighbor to the left. “Is that red velvet?” asks the neighbor to the right. “No, no, it’s definitely a lemon cake,” says the woman from downstairs. “Are jou starting a bakery in here, Senora?!” demands Julio the maintenance man. “Dese condos are not zoned for de bakery, Senora. Please. Stop making dese cakes!”
“Julio, do you see any cakes here?” I respond. Julio shakes his head no. “This is just love, my dear friend. This is just love.”
I step towards the door and my neighbors gasp. What is it? I wonder. I look down and realize my chest has grown three sizes. All the more to love the world with, I say to myself. Now I know how Pamela Anderson feels.
Thank you, God Particle. Thank you.
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Photo credits: the god particle – mine, all mine. Galaxy-feature
Sweet Mother 