Warning: the following post is uncharitable, nasty, brutish, and too long. It’s inappropriate for Advent, and unbecoming of Catholicity in general.
Think of it as a kind of therepeutic literary effleurage: by indulging in some light grousing, I’m distracting myself from my larger, more serious beef, which is that I’m still here. Not lying in a hospital bed with heated blankets tucked around my legs, hearing the nurses say, “You know, Mrs. Fisher, all babies are beautiful, but this one is really something special. Here is some food that you didn’t cook, and when you’re done, you really must take a nap.”
All right, so here we go.
We don’t have any bumper stickers on our vehicle. I...READ MORE