Holy Moly

"She's expecting her first child in August," said my mother.

"Who is?" I asked.

"I'm talking about your sister's niece. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Not since you and the Lovely Bride started discussing spinal fluids. Seriously, at breakfast? What's wrong with you?"

"Stop being so squeamish," she said.

"It's Sunday," I replied. "Why aren't you at church? Sinner."

"We were at a family wedding last weekend," said the Lovely Bride, trying to change the subject. "The ceremony was performed by a Baptist preacher."

"How was that?" asked my mother.

"Different," said the Lovely Bride.

"'Different' as in 'nuts,'" I said.

"That's a little strong," said the Lovely Bride.

"Not hardly," I said. "He told some bizarre story about kinsmen redeemers. If I started jabbering like that you'd think I'm schizophrenic."

"It's from the New Testament," said the Lovely Bride.

"How about the part where Naomi marries Ruth?" I asked.

"He might have gotten the story a little confused," she admitted.

"It did make it more interesting," I said.

"What's a kinsmen redeemer?" asked my mother.

"You'd know if you were God-fearing," I told my mother.

She turned to my middle son. "What do you think about religion?" she asked.

"I really hope I'm right about the whole 'God doesn't exist' thing or my being dead time is gonna be bad," he said.

My mother started at her grandson for a moment. "Well," she finally said. "Alright."

"I'm so proud," muttered the Lovely Bride.

"Anyway, what's the story about this person I don't know who's having a baby?" I asked.

"Don't be snotty," said my mother. "It's an unfortunate situation. The father's not around so she's going to have to raise the child without any male support."

"If she needs mail support she could always call the post office," I suggested.

"Please die," my son told me.

"Does she know whether it's going to be a boy or a girl?" the Lovely Bride asked.

"A girl," said my mother. "She's planning to name her Sophie."

"She'll have to make a decision then," I said.

"What sort of decision," my mother asked suspiciously.

"Sophie's Choice."

"You see why I don't believe in God?" asked the boy.