A post from the bottom of my grubby little heart

Let me set up some previously overlooked--silly me!--rules for Date Night:

• There should be no hairnets involved in Date Night.
• Washing/drying dishes is not an acceptable date activity.
• "Dressing up" should not mean changing in a cubicle into a white dress and shoes.

Mystified, aren't you? Wondering just what kind of a cheapskate husband I married; doubting that any marriage in such circumstances can long survive. Worry not, good people. There is, as always, a plausible, probable, if somewhat unexpected, explanation. (And Roberto isn't a cheapskate. That would be my assigned family role. When we were first married, we divided up the unpleasant chores. He would have to sing and dance in grocery stores and clean the toilets. I would have to be the grouchy cheapskate and do the laundry. The secret to a happy marriage is in the equitable sharing of household duties.)

We spent our Friday night--that evening of the Great Mormon Date Night, recommended so highly by teachers of the Family Relations course and Bishops everywhere--volunteering at the Temple. In the cafeteria. Wearing the aforementioned articles (Can any one tell me why I bothered to do my hair?????) and engaging in the Washing/Drying activity stated above. (Although, to be honest, there was also the washing of tables, the precision-stacking of dishes, and the Lysol-ing of all surfaces. I'm telling you, when the scriptures say the temple should be a house of cleanliness and order, it's taken very seriously, even in places where you think someone might be slightly tempted to allow things to slip just a little. After tonight, I'm thinking of issuing recommends for my home, just so certain people will take better care of it. Do you think it would impress the kids into cleaning up their [unholy in the extreme] messes?)

I think we may have misunderstood the "Date Night" concept. Sort of like my parents, whose dates always seem to be spent at Home Depot. Because there's nothing better for a marriage than to spend an romantic evening discussing features on a garbage disposal with a scruffy guy in an orange apron. (Gets me all goose-pimply just thinking about it. When Roberto and I married I suggested that we hold our reception at the Depot, because of the tender feelings it always evoked. That didn't go over well. But I still maintain it would have been a better predictor of our wedded future than would the cultural hall where we eventually did have our reception . For one thing, we spend way more time looking for plumbing-repair items than playing Church basketball.)

Anyway, tonight we traded our free evening--the only one we'll have in a long, long time--for a fat wad of Celestial Savings Bonds. (Legal tender for all spiritual blessings and rewards in heaven. Good for laying the foundations of one's celestial mansion.) Only problem: I'm actually pretty darn content right now. (Not to worry; I doubt this is a permanent condition. I'll be back to moaning and ranting soon enough.) I suppose I could stash them away and count on pulling them out when I need massive spiritual assistance, but I'm going to earn a lot more tomorrow and the week after next. (Girls' Camp is my key to spiritual enrichment. Like they say, "Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven." Trust me, camp counts in its own highly enjoyable way. Anytime I have to share my one shower of the week with two spiders and a lost grasshopper, I expect to be well blessed for it.) Call me Melia Megablessings.

So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to take this thick wallet of promised blessings and distribute them to people who could use them far better than I right now. I'm sure the heavenly accountants will understand and balance my account accordingly.


I send my promised extra love and strength to my friends who are in turmoil today.

For those people who are weary, I give you the physical and emotional strength I'm sure was coming my way.

The wisdom and knowledge intended for me can go instead to those who are seeking same.

My friends who are in emotional pain can expect a quick delivery of sunshine and optimism.

Any of you who are wondering how you'll make it through one more day can have my hope.


If there's anything I forgot, just ask that it be put on my account--I'll make sure it's covered. And then some day, when you spend the most anticipated evening of the week scrubbing pots and pan for the glory of heaven, you can pay me back.