Lent

It's that time of year again! By now, Catholics everywhere should have chosen what they are giving up this year for Lent. I had a very difficult time choosing what I was going to give up this year.

My previous methodology in choosing my sacrifice was to draw inspiration from posters hanging up around school. There was no need to look within myself to see what I should do. Why waste the time? I had an immensely busy social life as a child and simply couldn't be bothered to devote the time to such follies. The following list illustrates examples of messages I saw around me, and how I translated those messages into Lent sacrifices of yesteryears:

Elementary School
"Having fun isn't hard when you've got a library card!!"
...watch Arthur everyday after school.


Middle School
"The way to have a friend is to be a friend."
...stop being a bitch.


High School
"Shoot for the stars, because even if you miss, you'll fall on the mountain top!"
...apply to college, get accepted, go.


College
"Need career advice? Visit the Career Center in Schine!"
....get a job.

Unimaginative, blase, lazy--all fair criticisms of my previous Lent choices. One is supposed to choose something difficult because you are supposed to feel as though you've sacrificed something. Nobody's asking for you to mirror the sacrifice that was made for you, but do something. Now that I'm no longer in school, it became clear to me that it was really time to face my demons. What are my vices? Am I really strong enough to give them up? Suddenly....it dawned on me.

"This is the year I'm going to give up pop-tarts."

I am Odysseus attempting to forge a path home after the Trojan War, and poptarts are the irresistable Sirens. I cannot deny their rainbow frosted, strawberry preserve-filled song, despite the fact that they will one day kill me. Then I hit a hurdle.

As some of you may know, I'm somewhat of a scientist--and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that giving up poptarts was simply out of the question. That would be defying my genetic make-up. It's all very clear. Please observe the following Punnett Square plucked directly from my pedigree:

Ability to Resist Poptarts in the Post-Childhood Stage of Culinary Palate Development

As you can see, both of my parents have the dominant poptart resistance gene, and all 3 of my sisters seem to also possess the dominant. My diabetic sister Valerie is clearly the top Left corner, completely resistant to poptarts due to insufficient insulin production.  Conversely, my genetic makeup is undoubtedly that of the completely recessive bottom right corner. My position as a recessive homozygous individual is simply non-negotiable. So really, giving up poptarts for Lent was, scientifically speaking, out of the question.

Once I had established that in my mind, it was time to get serious. If I couldn't think of something difficult to give up, then there was really no point in giving anything up at all. It wasn't until someone I care very much about proposed this novel idea to me:

"Maybe you should stop saying "fuck this" and "fuck that" so often..."

I had to admit, the f-bomb, unlike poptarts, is not a natural part of me. My propensity to use the f-word in all types of situations, multiple times a day, is just a bad habit and a product of my environment (New Jersey). As much as I love my home state, I don't live there anymore, and the people outside of that wonderful bubble are often offended and appalled by my filthy mouth.

And so it was decided. I am going to try and limit my use of the F-bomb as best as I can. I haven't been doing very well so far, but I am trying. You better believe that once Easter Sunday comes around, however, I will be saying the f-word with potentially alarming regularity. The first day of the post-season is sure to be exceptionally profane.

"What the fuck Grandma? Did you even TRY to hide the Easter Eggs this year? I can fucking SEE THEM sticking out of the bush. Fuck you."

O:) Happy Lent.