Household Gods

Below is my take on "household gods," as described in Genesis 31, in which the Biblical patriarch, Jacob, having absconded with his wives and possessions, is confronted by his father-in-law, Laban, about the latter's missing household gods.

I woke up sleepy this morning because last night I lost a battle with the TV god who lives in my bedroom.

What? You're not familiar with this deity? He sits atop an altar, AKA a dresser, and lulls me to sleep at times. Unfortunately, he has some bad habits and is very blatant about them. His language can be coarse, and his dialogue, well, let's just say peppery. He gets into some very improper subject matter, as he did last night, although he most certainly knows how to be a gentleman when he chooses. The sad thing is, it's hard to predict which side of himself he will present until he already has me lured in. By the time I realize he's in one of his crass moods, he usually has the hook around my neck, and it's almost impossible to break free.

I might not have gotten into it with the TV god if I hadn't been so wound up from all the time I spent with the email god. He had mysteriously reproduced inside my PC, and it was all I could do to tame his prodigious offspring and keep them from overpowering my hard drive.

The email god distracted me from fulfilling a promise I had made to the beef stroganoff god, who demanded I fulfill my obligation to him before church this morning. I therefore had to cube beef and chop onions instead of making my meeting with the makeup and hair gods, who cohabit in the bathroom. Of course, before walking out the door, I had to appease the clean kitchen and countertop gods, as well as the make-the-bed and put-away-the-laundry gods, who naturally took umbrage at the fact that they had to wait in line behind the choose-the-right-earrings-to-go-with-the-outfit god.

I'm happy to say I won the arm wrestling match with the walk-to-church god, who most certainly would have made me late if I had given in to him. This was a tough skirmish, as the walk-to-church god is in league with the exercise god, who's a pretty grueling taskmaster. I also did not give in to the paint-the-toenails god, although he tried to persuade me I couldn't be a serious worshipper in open-toed sandals with an untouched-up paint job.

I did take time, however, to feed the recycling god, whose open mouth beckoned me with a siren's song as I tried to dodge past him on my way to the appointment with the new car god (who, by the way, hasn't gotten over the fact that he has a fresh scuff on his dashboard, even though I promised him I would keep him in pristine condition, no matter what the cost to passengers who often mistakenly suppose a car is meant to serve their comfort and not the other way around). I also had to go out of my way to pay homage to the mailbox god, even though it's a holiday weekend and the bills won't go anywhere till Tuesday; hey, when a god summons, who am I to quibble over details?

Fortunately, the air conditioning god was on the job, or I might have had to visit another temple. As I've told him many times, I don't mind going, but I must be cool.

Now if I'm not careful, I may find myself beholden to the writing god.

Will I ever be free from this bondage?

If I spend more time with the Bible God, maybe I won't obsess so much over cheap imitations.