The phone rang. I knew, I knew, I knew, it would be God, but I couldn’t just let it ring, he’d know.
“Hello God.”
“Hey, how did you know it was me?” he says, but only to humour me.
“Blind faith.”
“You’re a funny girl, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard tell…”
An awkward pause. It’s always like this talking with God, the conversation never flows easily. All that power, so little confidence.
“Um…?” he is tentative and he sounds distracted, he is always like this on Sundays. I picture him sitting there scratching his beard, jiggling the JC on his left foot nervously, ignoring the plight of millions for a moment, as he works up the courage to ask me.
“Uh huh?”
“Are you free tonight?”
“Well, I was planning to wash my hair and give myself a Brazilian. Why?”
“Um, well, I…”
I’ve no time for this bullshit, I can’t stand his lack of spirit, he is just too insipid, too timid.
“Jesus Christ, God!”
“Ooh, you are such a bad girl,” he laughs and he tries to sound convincing, but the disappointment was palpable.
“Well, you made me that way, right? Look, God, I don’t know why you keep calling, this won’t work, you know it won’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You really didn’t think this through, did you?”
“Love knows not reason.”
But it’s all too much. Too much for me, too much for anybody.
“God, I’m sorry but I’ve really got to go, I’ve got Buddha on hold. Goodbye.”
“Um…bye.”