(I tried to find an over-flowing cup. this was the best/worst I could do)
Seems King David was in his cups. Or perhaps it was our favorite merchant sea-person Wendy Joseph.
She chose to imbibe…as imBiblical. Which begs the question: If religion is your bag, does that mean that you are sack-religious? Wendy could have asked for a wingnut and a prayer. I think she settled for another rum for her money.
NOT TOO Late to win Horace, our trophy. Contest ends June tenth. http://www.awordwithyoupress.com/2013/05/04/wing-nuts-our-new-contest/
Wing Nuts: A Biblical Meetup
by Wendy Joseph
Rum. Sailors’ drink. Mine.
“Losing your soul?” This voice was new. The beard and locks were black, and curly.
“No. David, as in King David, at your service.”
“What? Do I look like Bathsheba?”
“You look like you have problems. I know about that.” King David lifted his glass. “Ah. ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’ Sonoma Chardonnay.”
“Whatever. Loved the 88th, by the way. My kind of Psalm.”
“Depression too must have a voice. ‘My companions are in darkness.’” King David pulled out a small harp and played. It sounded weird against the Lakers game, but in a right kind of way.
Then I saw him. Ah shitniks. No. No. No no nonono.
King David had seen me see him. “There are deeper ruts than the one you’re in. I lost my son, you know. And my best friend. I was hunted as a fugitive. As for my own women—”
“I read about them. But for me, it only took one.”
“I could talk to him.”
King David fingered his glass. “My purpose on earth was vital. So is yours, once past this.”
“I’m not going to be queen of anything.” It’s hard to argue with God’s anointed.
“I do have a different perspective. Your way isn’t through the valley of the shadow of death.”
“Right.” I turned to King David, but my ex stood there instead. I shuddered. I’ll just have to wing it.