My sister keeps threatening to put misspellings on her board if Dad doesn’t let her write her own rants.
“You can write your own,” he said, “as long as it’s about repentance.”
“But Dad,” she said, “I want to rant about other things, like people taking too many jalapenos at the nacho bar and boys not sneezing into their elbows.”
“When you’re old enough to buy your own sandwich boards, then you can write whatever you want.”
“Fine,” she said, “where’s the Bible?”
“Don’t you ask for the Bible in that tone.”
“Yessir,” she said. “May I please have the Bible to find a passage for my sandwich board?”
“Here,” he said. “And don’t forget, you’re damning people. Your message should convey that.”
“Dad?” I said. “I think I’m ready for the fornicators sandwich board.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll see.”
