My Give a Damn is on the verge of Busting
This weekend I was berated by a 16-year-old girl because I was helping her mother, the newly baptized Mormon, divide up her paycheck into her budget envelopes and we put money into an envelope labeled "Tithing."
"Don't you think $100 a month is a little excessive to give to the church? We have to get the dog groomed and it will cost $35, and my mom owes me $40 because she forgot to pick me up at the airport and I had to take a cab home and we also need to save money so we can move out of this &#^@ state. By the way, my mom tried to drink alcohol last week and the only reason she didn't is because I told her she couldn't drink and drive. We already spent some of the money from this week at Starbucks. Did my mom tell you that? Well, I didn't make any commitments to pay tithing and half of that money is mine." It hurt my ears, she whined so much.
Sassy, talk-back Emily was fighting hard to surface, but was just kept in check by polite, in-someone-else's-house, take-the-abuse Emily. Take-the-abuse Emily seems to pop up most often when I'm playing the role of ward missionary. I ignored her as best I could and proceeded to assess which overdue bills ought to be paid first, then left with the worst feeling I like to call This Convert Isn't Making It mixed in with a little guilty Emily, Where's Your Faith and a whole lot of Who Does That Girl Think She Is Attacking Someone Who Is Helping Her?
The mom didn't show up for church Sunday. I had in my car a bag of hand-me-down clothes I had told them I would give them, so, even though I didn't want to, I forced myself to drop it by their apartment in a sort of I'm Above Being Mad at You gesture. The clothes were mostly too small for me, and I didn't think they would fit the bustier-and-curvier-than-I daughter, but I had told them about the clothes already, so I went ahead and dropped them off.
Ten minutes later, I got a call from the daughter, in her sugary sweet, over-the-top nice voice. "Thank you for the clothes. The red shirt and the blue shirt fit perfectly." I responded politely, but not warmly, and hung up in a daze. Oh no, I asked Steve, what have I done? The red shirt was REALLY too small for me, as in, boobitizing tight. This girl is at least too shirt sizes bigger than me, and she is wearing this skin-tight shirt?
I have unwittingly furthered the cause of hoochiness in Arizona.
"Don't you think $100 a month is a little excessive to give to the church? We have to get the dog groomed and it will cost $35, and my mom owes me $40 because she forgot to pick me up at the airport and I had to take a cab home and we also need to save money so we can move out of this &#^@ state. By the way, my mom tried to drink alcohol last week and the only reason she didn't is because I told her she couldn't drink and drive. We already spent some of the money from this week at Starbucks. Did my mom tell you that? Well, I didn't make any commitments to pay tithing and half of that money is mine." It hurt my ears, she whined so much.
Sassy, talk-back Emily was fighting hard to surface, but was just kept in check by polite, in-someone-else's-house, take-the-abuse Emily. Take-the-abuse Emily seems to pop up most often when I'm playing the role of ward missionary. I ignored her as best I could and proceeded to assess which overdue bills ought to be paid first, then left with the worst feeling I like to call This Convert Isn't Making It mixed in with a little guilty Emily, Where's Your Faith and a whole lot of Who Does That Girl Think She Is Attacking Someone Who Is Helping Her?
The mom didn't show up for church Sunday. I had in my car a bag of hand-me-down clothes I had told them I would give them, so, even though I didn't want to, I forced myself to drop it by their apartment in a sort of I'm Above Being Mad at You gesture. The clothes were mostly too small for me, and I didn't think they would fit the bustier-and-curvier-than-I daughter, but I had told them about the clothes already, so I went ahead and dropped them off.
Ten minutes later, I got a call from the daughter, in her sugary sweet, over-the-top nice voice. "Thank you for the clothes. The red shirt and the blue shirt fit perfectly." I responded politely, but not warmly, and hung up in a daze. Oh no, I asked Steve, what have I done? The red shirt was REALLY too small for me, as in, boobitizing tight. This girl is at least too shirt sizes bigger than me, and she is wearing this skin-tight shirt?
I have unwittingly furthered the cause of hoochiness in Arizona.
Comments
very nice of you to give her the clothes. your kind act was far greater than the negative effect of the hoochiness. Maybe it will be her tipping point. Have you started reading that yet?