Well, not God exactly, but his little minions from the local Baptist Church, who have decided that the people on my street are in need of a little heavenly love. I think what they are really decided is that they have checked the police records and decided that the adult/hoodlum ratio is way off.
Last week, I got home and there was a plastic bag on my front door that contained a letter from the church explaining that my street had been selected for a 8 week campaign. They seemed to have a particular interest in "shut-ins" (read, "easy prey." or, more appropriately, "easy pray") and offered to mow grass, do household chores and run errands for people that couldn't do for themselves. The bag contained some Laffy Taffy, which although disgusting, I ate and sorta enjoyed. More enjoyable, was the bright yellow bracelet made out of shoelace material that said "Wrapped in His Love." I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it, but don't worry, it will be put to good use! I honestly wonder how much this little bag cost them.
So, I ate my taffy, threw the bracelet in the "someday you will find a place for this" pile and went on with my life.
Until I came home tonight and found yet another Baptist bag on my door! This time though, I was annoyed. Mostly because I am taking care of my neighbor's house while he is on a cruise through the Greek islands (jerk!) and had to run up his steps (all 9 of them) and grab the bag off his door too (i've been going to the gym people, those 9 steps were absolute torture).
Still annoyed, I opened the bag, and found love in the form of mini KitKats, Crunch bars and fruit snacks. This time, they are offering relationship counseling (think they would enjoy my blog?), divorce support groups and a Christian concert. But most importantly, they were offering chocolate.
Seriously, I could get used to this. Having chocolate waiting for me at my front door after a long hard day at work? Wow. Now I feel a little guilty for snickering at them and making snide comments in my head. I hope they stay for way more than 8 weeks!
P.S. Neighbor-boy will never know there was chocolate in that bag, and don't you dare tell him...
P.P.S. I am going straight to hell.