No Peeking During the Prayer
“…We have a lot to be thankful for this year. Despite all that’s going on in the world, we have shelter, good health, and a winning season from the Pittsburgh Steelers. So yinz kids don’t blow it by peeking during the prayer.
“That’s right: no peeking during the prayer. Come dinner time, I don’t care if Uncle Clyde decides to recite the whole of Deuteronomy and your legs go numb before the amen. Save whatever googly eyes you got for after turkey-time. I’m talking head down, chin clamped, eyes tighter than a Terrell Edmunds interception.
“We can not have a repeat of last year.
“Yinz all started chuckling when Uncle Daryl’s toupee fell in the gravy boat during the prayer and the whole thing went off the rails. Do you want to see Unky-D spike the turkey into the fire place again? Then don’t peek during the prayer.
“Now some of yinz might be thinking, ‘if I peek during the prayer, how is Dad going to know?’ Well God will know! Yeah, that’s right. What if yinz peek during the prayer, and that invalidates the whole thing, so God don’t hear the part where we ask for a safe and healthy holiday and he decides today’s the day to choke Grandma with a turkey bone?
“Then Grandma, rest her soul, gets to Heaven and decides to watch the playback. Oh yeah, they got instant replay of everything in Heaven. Grandma rewinds back to dinner to see what went wrong and sees her grandchildren Donnie and Geraldine peeking during the prayer.
“Then God strolls by and he says ‘Hey Carol, what you watching there?’ He takes a gander and sees yinz kids with eyes agape. He thinks to himself ‘ol’ Carol can’t be that great of a person. Her grandkids ain’t even respecting the prayer. Maybe I made a mistake.’ Yinz know what happens next?
“Grandma’s going to Hell! Eighty two years of swallowing those stale-as-shit crackers at Sacred Heart down the drain. The woman had a gluten allergy, but she pushed through thinking it’d earn her a nice slice of Heaven. Too bad she’ll be gargling fire at the Pitchfork Buffett all because you were — ”
The vibrations of a cell phone interrupted Dan Zabriskie as he preached from the driver’s seat of his mini-van in the driveway of his Mother-in-Law’s home.
“Hey Dad, Grandma just texted,” said his twelve-year-old son Donnie. “She wants to know when we’re coming inside. They’re ready to carve the turkey.”
“How would you know that?”
Donnie froze, realizing he had doomed the Zabriskie family for another twenty minutes.
“‘Yinz PEEKED DURING THE PRAYER! Now I’m going to have to start all over AGAIN! Third time’s a charm. Let us pray. Lord, we have a lot to be thankful for this year…”
