You see, it was late at night and I’d just gone through quite an emotional ordeal. So, naturally, I was hungry, Father. The hour read 12:55 am and though I try not to eat late (me being a decidedly healthy eater), I couldn’t help but indulge in a bow of cereal. Cinnamon Toast Crunch, to be exact. I know, I know, the very worst…but Father, I couldn’t see myself picking the raisins out of my much healthier granola. Not when I was in such a fragile state. One accidental bite down on a raisin might very well have sent me over the edge…I just couldn’t muster the patience or strength you know? I’m not you, Father. My stomach was cavernous, and I’d worked out pretty hard this week. Plus, I’m on these new, metabolism-increasing multivitamins… What was I supposed to do? Gluttonous and unforgivable as that might be, I have not yet reached the sin, Father. Bear with me.
Well, as it turns out, Father, I just couldn’t totally live with myself for eating so late (and so irresponsibly!) at night. So in my guilt and consternation, I immediately set the bowl of cereal aside to do some sit-ups. You know, for preemptive penance. I did 50, Father, because though I was guilty, I know I’m not a soulless, hell-bound wretch. Fifty seemed like quite enough, don’t you agree?
So, finally, I was ready to sit down with my cereal, Father. I was ready to eat it and put it all behind me. But everyone knows that you can’t properly enjoy a good bowl of sugary cereal without television, Father. And my latest show…well, let’s just say it was currently unavailable. So, what had happened was, I turned to Netflix for solace. Which was, arguably, my second mistake. I had not the slightest inkling of what I could possibly want to watch and then…then, I saw it, Father.
Basketball Wives.
And something just happened inside me, Father. Something in my brain…said…it was ok, you know? And I knew it was trash. I quite knew that all God had probably ever desired of his children was to have absolutely nothing to do with that show…but what could it hurt? Just this once? I had spent an entire lifetime fortifying my spirituality, mastering the English language, and conducting myself as a decent human being…surely that could not all be undone by a simple 20 minutes of Basketball Wives?
Oh, but I was, wrong Father. I was wrong. Please forgive me my errant attentions and cleanse me of the ratched-ness I witnessed. Please, Father, I pray for those who regularly ingest such huge helpings of negativity and petty-hi jinks. Who are influenced by the ruthless backstabbing and as a result, have no idea how to conduct themselves as young women and honest beings. I rebuke their weave, Father…I rebuke Evelyn Lozada’s flagrant, fly-away weave and Shaunie O’Neal’s questionable insistence that one should ‘keep their enemies close’. I rebuke whatever is flawed in me that I would watch such a terrible show. That I would actually think to enjoy it. Father…I’m not even sure what makes sense anymore.
Ask God to protect my friends, on my behalf. To shield them from ludicrous ideas…keep them from communications, Father, Because, I cannot be on a reality TV show.
I won’t.
