When geeks marry geeks, this is the last thing you expect to hear:

Me: So ... are you liking camp?
My son: Yeah!
Me: What do you like best about it?
My son: The sports.

Considering that in this household, a sunny, breezy, 78 degree summer day is considered to be the perfect day to sit by a window and read, and my husband and I sit companionably in the living room of an evening playing with our laptops, while one child plays Nintendo DS and the other one plays GameCube games ... well, I'm speechless.

My Seven Last Words

"Holy crap," she blasphemed blithely, "that's-a-lotta church time." It really is! I just got the email with he coming week's rehearsal/service choir schedule. Check it out:

Tomorrow: Two rehearsals, two services.
Monday: No church. My last chance to get groceries, do laundry, and commit a couple of sins.
Tuesday: 11:15 call for a 12:00 service, which is The Blessing of the (Extra-Virgin) Oil, and no, I am not kidding. Somehow I suspect the oil will be Extra-Virgin-In-Perpetuity.
Wednesday: A two-hour evening rehearsal with orchestra.
Maunday Thursday: 6:30 call for 7:30 service.
Good Friday: 11:15 call for Noon Good Friday Service.
Saturday: 7:15 call for the 8:00 Easter Vigil
Easter Sunday: 8:00 call for services at 9 and 11

I'm estimating 23 hours at church this week, not including travel time. After all this, I fully expect to transubstantiate. Or bite the head off a chocolate Jesus. And then go get brunch.

So. Let me know if you need me to pray for your sins, or for the healing of your bodily ills, or even your flawed fashion sense, because by this time next week, I should be BFF with anyone Who ever played a starring role in a stained glass window.

After three months exactly give or take a day or two. [Updated!]

Today I'm going to pick up my car at the body shop. [Sorry! I didn't mean to lead you on. It still wasn't ready. The front left headlight was faulty.]

So I have this to say about my insurance agent: May God smite the flea-bitten daughter of a clapped out whore ...

But wait. Isn't it just like me to start ranting when you don't have any idea what has happened?

Allow me to open with a humorous math problem. My 2003 VW Passat wagon has a book value of $19,700. The repairs to the body, plus the new engine it apparently needed, cost over $13,000. Now let's factor in the repairs to the Mercedes Benz (hereafter referred to as "The One That Got Away") which came in at about $5,000. Which leaves about a thousand dollars.

So now we're at three months and over $18,000 in repairs. THREE MONTHS. My question is this: does my insurance company owe me the extra $1,000 for wear and tear on my other car, not to mention my psyche? Or should they sweeten the deal and refund the last two years of insurance payments, too? And while they're at it, throw in a big-screen television and a case of really good wine?

I think they should throw something in for Fiddledeedee, who drove me to the body shop to pick up my car. She deserves something for her trouble too, especially because, what with the faulty headlight scenario, my car was not actually ready, and I'm probably going to ask her to take me there again tomorrow.

And it's all because the guy in front of me had the same brilliant idea of moving out of the left hand lane so as to avoid getting stuck behind the car waiting to make a left hand turn. Only when he noticed that the car was a police cruiser, he stopped. Cold. And I smacked into him. At about--since I was going from a dead stop and had driven about six feet--ten miles an hour.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. When you're driving, and you see a car that apparently likes to go out on Halloween as a Sherman Tank, try to avoid hitting it. Even very slowly and softly.