tell people to "cram it up their cramholes"

along with “Wrong-o, Wrongy.”

I enjoy them both thoroughly, and hope that when my children have children, they’ll silently pray I won’t teach the grand-squids my choice phrases. I hope I’m still using it then.

...This is bad. If you’re easily offended, stop reading now. And please understand that this is not a commentary against Jehovah’s Witnesses in general, but against two particular individuals with no boundaries.

About a week ago, a rather friendly Jehovah’s Witness couple came to my house and asked me how I felt about the alarming amount of poverty in the world. I said that I spent much of my free time volunteering for a poverty-relief organization. They told me to read their little magazine, and were on their way.

Fine. I respect their mission. I respect their right to believe what they believe. I even respect the fervor and dedication with which they pursue their cause.

I do not, however, respect this:

Today, at 9am, my doorbell rang. I answered my door in a bathrobe and jammies, and it was that very couple.

“Oh, looks like we caught you on a lazy morning,” the man said.

“Well, not lazy, exactly,” I said. They’d already put me on the defensive. “The kids are sick and nobody got much sleep last night.”

“Well, we just wanted to talk to you more about the problems of poverty in our world. Have you thought about how the devil’s stronghold on the earth is the source of this poverty, and do you believe that there can be a time and a place where these kinds of problems don’t exist?”

Yeah, yeah. I’ve thought about all that stuff. And I have all sorts of theories on the problem of poverty, few of which are directly attributed to the devil. And I’m much more inclined to try to DO something about it than to sit around blaming entities (whether real OR imagined) that I can’t control.But I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I just said, “You know…this is a really bad time.”

“There are always reasons to put off thinking about God,” the gentleman said.

Oh, man. Did he really mean to incinuate that he came to MY house to get ME out of bed to question MY beliefs on MY time? Right…

But I maintained composure. “You know, sir. I respect what it is that you want to do. But I’m very secure in my relationship with God, and my understanding of God may be a little bit different than yours, but I’m content with it…and I assure you, I spend quite a bit of time thinking about God.”

“Would tomorrow afternoon work better for you?”

That’s when it dawned on me that I was being a bit too nice. So I took the high road. I didn’t incinuate that the government could save MILLIONS by giving postal routes to Jehovah’s Witnesses. I didn’t flip out and accuse them of trespassing and call the police. No.

“With all due respect,” I said. “Cram it up your cramholes.” And I shut my door.

Lots.

I have a cold, I was running late, and I’m crabby.

Asswipe in a pickup cuts me off—I LOVE it when people are SOOOOO concerned about getting to their final destination ONE CARLENGTH sooner that they’re willing to jeopardize their bumpers and my safety. Anyway, as fate would have it, later on in our commute, I wound up next to him at his stoplight.

Just as the light was about to turn green, I smiled sweetly, rolled down my window, and waved to him. He rolled down his window, too.

“Excuse, me—I couldn’t help but noticing…it looks like you may need to CRAM IT UP YOUR CRAMHOLE.”

And away I drove. It’s the best thing I’ve done all day.

...is much more gifted with a quippy comeback than I. Difficult. He makes me laugh, true, but I RARELY get the last word. I usually wind up dissolving into helpless giggles and giving up.

But no. Not today. When he was teasing me about losing my keys (what can I say-keys are my neurosis. I never lose them. I just live in fear that I will), I smiled charmingly, kissed him on the cheek, leaned in close to his ear, and whispered in my sexiest voice-“Baby…cram it up your cramhole.” Kissed him on the cheek again, and left the room.

Kate wins again.

...totally gets that I’m sarcastic. Might be why he hired me.

Still, I was totally prepared on Wednesday when he showed up with his weekly “I-watched-The-Office-last-night-and-you-didn’t-so-you’ll-never-guess-what-I’m-doing” antics.

As he was making random ninja moves at me, I kept typing. Didn’t bat an eye.

When he was done, I told him to CRAM IT UP HIS CRAMHOLE.

He burst into laughter. There. I win.