|Photo Credit: Mantasmagorical/Karfelt|
So God and Mother Nature meet at a café for lunch. A surly waitress gives them a booth, drops their menus on the table, and vanishes. God slides onto the bench in his flowing white robe, smoothing his long snowy beard. Mother Nature plops down and the manager scurries over.
“Excuse me, Ma’am? Are those – uh – service animals?” The pot-bellied manager points to the birds and butterflies circling her head.
“Let’s just say they are, Sonny,” she snaps. Thunder rumbles through the café and static electricity makes the manager’s hair stand on end. He hurries away.
“Where’s Father Time?” God asks.
“You know he’s always late,” Mother Nature mumbles, flipping through the menu and scowling. “I don’t know where half this stuff in here comes from, but I assure you I had nothing to do with most of it.”
“Girl,” God said, “You’re preaching to the choir.”
Mother Nature slams the menu shut, puts her elbows on the table, and leans forward. “How are you doing lately?”
God lets out a long sigh. “You’re the first one who’s asked me that since – mmm – you’re the first one who’s asked me that. I’m busy, my to-do list never ends. You know I rested on the seventh day? Well that was the last time.” A buzzing noise vibrates against the table. God pats his robes and fishes a cell phone out of his pocket. He looks at it and hits mute. “The office can deal with that one.”
“You sure? I know your work’s important.”
“Technically that one was for you.” At her raised brows he elaborates. “It was a prayer for the snow to stop.”
“Oh for pity’s sake!” She gripes, and holds her hands up like two sock puppets, moving her thumb and fingers like mouths she mimes, “I’m hot,” the other hand mimes, “I’m cold!” An ensuing hand-puppet rant follows. “I need rain!” “Make the rain stop!” “When’s summer gonna end?” “When’s winter gonna end?” She smacks both hands against the tabletop and one of the birds circling her head makes a mess on her shoulder. “I’ve got a planet to run and maintain! I cannot run an entire eco-system based on when someone’s daughter is getting married!” Nabbing a napkin off the table she wipes the mess off her shoulder. “I’m telling you they’re driving me crazy. And they’re mucking up everything! Isn’t it time for you to smote them or something? I could help, and it would sure make my job easier!”
God chuckled, shaking his head. “I love people.” His cell vibrates again and he lifts it off the table briefly, again hitting mute. “Lotto request. Ridiculous. I need to make a filter for those.” Again the phone vibrates and he leans forward to look, frowns, and waves his hand over it. “Bam.”
“Wish I could do that,” Mother Nature griped.
God laughs, looking around. “Who do I have to know to get a piece of cherry pie around here?”
“Can’t you just bam that?”
“Seriously? Do I really have to do everything myself?”
Mother Nature leans out of the booth and bellows to their waitress on the other side of the room, “Yo! Can we get some service over here?”
The waitress hands a check to a customer while clearing dirty plates off a far table. She shouts, “I don’t know CAN you?”
“I think she wants you to say ‘May’,” God points out. “It’s only polite.”
“I think someone’s boobs are gonna hang low. I’m in no mood for it.”
“Do you really have time to be facetious?” God shakes his finger at her, but he’s smiling.
“It’s one of the job perks. Not that it matters much anymore what with plastic surgery and all. Oh here she comes.”
The waitress plops two glasses of water on the table, pulls a pad of paper from her pocket and a pencil from behind her ear. “What’ll it be?” She blinks at God, waiting.
“I’d like a cup of tea, and a slice of cherry pie, please.”
“We only have cherry pie on Fridays, today is rhubarb.”
God stares at her for a moment, glances at Mother Nature, and slaps his hand against the table. “Bam.”
“Would you like that cherry pie ala mode?” The waitress asks.
Mother Nature shakes her head. “Love a duck, Father Time is gonna bust something. You just made it Friday, didn’t you?”
“It’s one of the perks of the job. Besides, people love Fridays.”
The waitress turns her gaze on Mother Nature’s revolving halo of flying woodland creatures, and scratches her nose with the back of her pencil, waiting.
“I want a salad with fresh field greens – none of those packaged lettuces. I want every fresh vegetable you have tossed in there – nothing pickled or canned. I wouldn’t mind a few golden raisins though. And nuts, something fresh – and unsalted. What kind of cheese do you have?”
“What kind do you want?” The waitress tosses an exaggerated eye-roll in God’s direction. He grins at her.
“Goat cheese, just a little. And I want a BIG plate – make it a platter of salad. I’m hungry.”
“That’ll cost extra. Do you want dressing?”
“Vinegar and oil, on the side. And a chocolate chip milkshake – made with whole milk, whole ice-cream and dark chocolate chips. Got it?” The waitress didn’t answer, shoving her pencil behind her ear she stomped away.
“Well that was very When Harry Met Sally,” God said.
“Hey, I know what I like. Do you actually watch movies?”
“I see all,” God said.
“Poor you,” Mother Nature said.
“I know, right?” God said.
To be continued…