This is another guest post by a delightful graduate of my magazine writing course, Anita Martinez. It’s not easy to write humor. Let’s hope she keeps writing! 😀
We were a young couple at the time, having our first home built. This was an exciting event in our lives, interlaced with stress, especially when we had to stay at my in-laws’ home during the process.
For the most part, I got along fine with my in-laws, so it wasn’t too bad at first, in spite of the cramped quarters. I soon found out, however, that hot water for dishes, bathing and showering was a commodity my mother-in-law guarded ferociously. So I figured out a strategy.
Early dawn found me awakening before the rest of the snoozing household, armed with a towel and shampoo. I was thankful my father-in-law’s loud snoring muffled my stealthy entrance to the bathroom and shower.
A dry, cracked bar of Ivory soap lay in the soap dish, waiting to be frothed. I turned the squeaky shower faucets, and a dribble of lukewarm water greeted me.
As I basked in the showerhead’s trickle, my eyes wandered to an object upon the window ledge, directly above me: a smiling ceramic monk, complete with dangling rosary and cross. He had a hard-to-reach opening on top of his belly. I tip-toed and struggled to place my fingertips inside it. He was filled with water. Oh, holy water, was my thought. I must bless myself with it every morning and toss up a prayer that all goes smoothly with the house construction.
I followed this new-born tradition every morning: sneak into shower, plunge fingers in the happy monk’s sacred vessel, cross myself fervently, and pray.
One morning, as our extended stay neared its end, I must have been more alert than usual. As I showered, I noticed the ceramic monk facing me, bearing his happy Bob’s Big Boy grin. His protruding belly displayed printing I hadn’t seen before. In large, uppercase letters, were the words CHOPPER HOPPER. My brow furrowed as I pondered: CHOPPER HOPPER? What could that mean?
With a growing sense of dread, I outstretched my hands, groping and grabbing the grinning monk, whose cold water sloshed upon me. I peered down at the contents of his belly: my father-in-law’s dentures. I had been blessing myself with Efferdent and remnants of beef stew.
Image: St. Anthony. Public domain.