I have a theory about how the whole 'eating the apple' thing came about.
I suspect that Eve, being the chief cook and bottle washer of Eden, was tired of cooking all day every day. I imagine that Adam came home from work-like he did every day-and said those 3 magic words.
"Are you hungry?"
Eve fell for it every time, because while "what's for dinner?" has clear expectations that she should prepare food, "are you hungry?" holds the possibility of a Taco Bell run.
So, every time, she would say "yes" and every time, Adam would reply "so what should we have for dinner?" Every living, breathing woman on the planet knows that's passive-aggressive code for...
"what's for dinner?"
But that was BEFORE she ate the apple. You see, she was always looking for new ways to serve lamb so she sampled the fruit, concluding it made an excellent condiment when chopped with grapes and celery, and if Adam ever slaughtered a lamb that THEY could eat, she'd be ready with the perfect go-to side.
That evening when Adam arrived home from the fields and said "are you hungry?", in her enlightened state, she knew he was really saying "feed me" and she replied "I am the Mother of All Nations; can't you see I'm busy? Surely you can manage a little hunter-gatherer action."
Since drive-thrus had yet to be invented and there wasn't a Taco Bell within a 100 miles of Eden anyway (hence-Eden...) Eve knew, regardless of any other task she might need to accomplish, she would be gathering salad greens in the near future.
Fed up, she said "Grab one of those apples to tide you over while I finish up this fig leaf skirt", knowing the full ramifications of her instructions. But really, isn't spending eternity with a guy who doesn't even wear underwear while he's sitting at the kitchen table, drinking his morning coffee, hell in itself?
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
My Good Deed for the Day
I was downstairs in the break room at the end of the day when I noticed a little bird pecking at the glass. At first glance, I thought he was outside trying to get in, but it was just the opposite.
My office sits atop a working warehouse, and it's not unusual for a feathered friend to gain entry now and again. I've even had a showdown with a wayward squirrel... but that's a story for another time.
This poor little guy was clearly confused- trampolining himself against the glass at the bottom of the window in a recess behind the wall-length vent. I knew his fate if I left him to fend for himself so I looked around for some way to save him.
My first choice was a coffee cup and a paper plate. Sometimes your first instincts are not the best. (As an aside: birds do not respond well to 'happy puppy noises'.) I ended up beaning him once pretty harshly. I thought I had killed him, but soon he was thrashing against the pane even more vehemently than before. Eventually I found a clear plastic cup and teaming it with a styrofoam cup, I was able to contain him.
As I walked down the hall I kept telling him (and me): it'll be alright; it'll be alright; it'll be alright. But I wasn't sure. I feared my clubbing with the coffee cup might have damaged his wing. He was holding it rather awkwardly. Finally, I pushed open the big steel side door and gingerly separated the two cups in the grass.
In that glorious moment of emancipation, he flew off into the waning sun and I instantaneously breathed a sigh of relief and let out a gasp of horror as I heard that big steel door slam shut with me on the outside.
No keys. No phone. No good deed goes unpunished.
My office sits atop a working warehouse, and it's not unusual for a feathered friend to gain entry now and again. I've even had a showdown with a wayward squirrel... but that's a story for another time.
This poor little guy was clearly confused- trampolining himself against the glass at the bottom of the window in a recess behind the wall-length vent. I knew his fate if I left him to fend for himself so I looked around for some way to save him.
My first choice was a coffee cup and a paper plate. Sometimes your first instincts are not the best. (As an aside: birds do not respond well to 'happy puppy noises'.) I ended up beaning him once pretty harshly. I thought I had killed him, but soon he was thrashing against the pane even more vehemently than before. Eventually I found a clear plastic cup and teaming it with a styrofoam cup, I was able to contain him.
As I walked down the hall I kept telling him (and me): it'll be alright; it'll be alright; it'll be alright. But I wasn't sure. I feared my clubbing with the coffee cup might have damaged his wing. He was holding it rather awkwardly. Finally, I pushed open the big steel side door and gingerly separated the two cups in the grass.
In that glorious moment of emancipation, he flew off into the waning sun and I instantaneously breathed a sigh of relief and let out a gasp of horror as I heard that big steel door slam shut with me on the outside.
No keys. No phone. No good deed goes unpunished.
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