Wishes Can Come True

I held my breath as I stepped off the train last night into the thickly falling snow, and gradually let my brain awaken to the potential consequences of slipping on my way home from the Ho-Ho-Kus train station and sliding headlong down the hill into a parked car or a curb camouflaged by the snow. I should mention that I have very good balance. Also, that I was wearing sneakers with decent traction. Both of these facts concerned me greatly.

Am I a (devastatingly charming) fatalist? Maybe so, but good shoes and superhuman balance are the sort of things that promote overconfidence. Also, and this part was crucial to my worry, it was Tuesday. And not Super Tuesday either, just regular old vanilla-flavored Tuesday.

I suppose it might have dawned on me that it was also the birthday of Abraham Lincoln, emancipator extraordinaire and author of the epic book, Who Freed The Slaves? (I did, I did!): the Autobiography of Abraham Lincoln (Smokey Robinson Press, 1864, $19.95 US/$24.95 CANADA, also available in eBook format from amazon.com). It's just that it was snowing, and I wasn't in a very Abraham Lincoln-ey mood, if you know what I mean. I know it was only two days before Valentine's Day, and I should have been fully in the spirit of the holiday by then, but I just couldn't get it going. I don't know what was wrong with me.

I think I'm going to have to blame Jesus for this one.

Dear Jesus,

Thanks for making it snow two days before Valentine's Day, Jerk. And don't go blaming the Easter Bunny like You did last year. You should awaken to the potential consequences of slipping on my way home from the Ho-Ho-Kus train station and blah blah blah whatever puke.

I hope You get struck by lightning.

Kiss my shiny, caramel-colored butt,
Smokey Robinson



Above: Jesus Christ statue in Rio de Janeiro gets struck by lightning. Not pictured: the butt-kissing.