Smackdown Sunday

My Sunday was going swimmingly. I slept in, I made pizza dough, I watched "Music and the Spoken Word," I went to Church . . . it was all fantastic. After Sunday School, some guys came up to Ann (my roommate) and said, "We're ready to come over and eat your delicious food again."

Hmmmmm. They were at the apartment Saturday night (I wasn't there) and ate all our chicken roll ups. I was leery of the guys, but she said, "Sure!" and they all said, "Great!"

Whatever. I was having a great Sunday. After Church, I told Ann that this mooching could not take place anymore, but it was fine they were coming over for dinner then. She nodded and smiled.

I completed the pizza when I got home from Church, and soon the moochers arrived to eat my food. The vibe I was getting from these two immature boys was not good--my mood began to turn sour. As I cut into the pizza, I realized the crust was a bit hard (Alisyn, you would have been so ashamed of me!). "Whatever!" I sighed to myself and placed the beautiful pizza on the table. The moochers began to dish themselves some pizza.

"Sorry the crust is a little hard," I remarked as they began feeding their faces.

"It's okay," one of them said (Devin--why do I need to conceal the names of the guilty?) as he fed his face.

"Uh, yeah, this crust is really hard," moocher #2, Chris, snipped, as if he had just eaten the most disgusting food in his life.

WHOA!! I thought, looking at him. If he would have said it sarcastically, it would have been different; but his remark was so rude and so snide that I flipped a brick right then and there.

"You don't have to sit here and eat my pizza," I snipped back, poison dripping from my words.

And then he had the audacity to reply, "I don't have to sit here and ruin my enamel."

I don't know how I didn't lose it right then and there. I was mad; I was irate. How rude!!!! How dare he sit there and get a free meal and complain. I would NEVER complain about a free meal at a guest's house. NEVER! And there Mr. Moocher was, complaining about his free meal. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, buddy--especially not mine.

I held my tongue and fumed through the rest of dinner for the sake of the Sabbath. Ann knew I was mad. The moochers knew I was mad.

When they finally left, I flipped a brick in front of Ann. "I don't put up with crap," I hissed, all of my anger finally releasing. "That was uncalled for! Creeps! They are never to come over to this apartment again!"

Ann knew I was mad, and she agreed. She left, I went home and collapsed in front of my family, angry tears and screams escaping from the deepest, darkest place of my soul.

After having a good cry and a good angry-fest, I drove back to the apartment and had a heart-to-heart with Ann. No more moochers, no more creeps. If someone comes over, we both have to approve.

Chris was just lucky he didn't get the smackdown.