At eleven years old I swore that I'd never let a boy touch me until we were married. At twelve I thought "Perhaps" as I felt Jimmy Henneberg's hot breath on my neck at the softball game, even though it smelled like nachos (with extra peppers). Thirteen, when Mikey Jacob's put his tongue in my mouth and hand up my shirt I considered..."Well, we'll probably get married someday anyway." (I never saw him again) Finally at fourteen as I heard my mattress squeak in perfect time with Queensryche on the cassette player the only thoughts were a silent prayer that Ronnie Bishop would fit under my bed just if my mom came home early.
As a Catholic I've been pre-conditioned to justify every action to make it favorable in the eyes of God. Getting completely drunk? Well Jesus turned water into wine, didn't he? Buying a new pair of slingbacks instead of giving to charity? Hey, these shoes will help me land a great job with fantastic salary and then I'll give away ALL my money! (well maybe half). Dry humping a guy on the lawn of a Jimmy Buffett concert? Jesus himself said "Love thy Neighbor."
In my youth I was the resident expert on pardonable misdeeds. If I was thinking about the seeing the paper boy in his underwear during church I was "trying to make new friends." Waiting with the other girls outside the locker room after a football game to try and get a peek, I was "Studying for my Biology final." Making out with a guy named Eric in a hayloft at a barn party while my boyfriend was passed out in the horse stables after drinking too much bootlegged Budweiser? I'm simply: "Encouraging Get-to-know-you activities among my peers."
How can even God argue with that logic? I'm still a good Catholic, I make Mass every week (almost) I got my Ashes a few weeks ago and am on my second week of Soda withdrawal for Lent (lack of caffeine is the excuse that I'm giving for any grammar mistakes in this blog by the way). I even make a point of going to Confession once in a while. I just don't spill everything. I mean c'mon now!
The most significant of these acts came when I let Cooper Smythe go "all the way" because he was studying to be a priest. His poor sad eyes begged as he spoke of a future with only cold, dark nights with God. How could I possibly t on say no to one of the true Catholic soldiers? I am nothing if not a woman of self-sacrifice. If that doesn't make me a full fledged member of the God Squad, well then I guess I'll just have to learn to walk on water.
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