Edicts of Nancy

The blogosphere's most persecuted Christian!

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Liberals: you have 45 shopping days left to mock Christmas

I take my marching orders from right-wing bloggers with higher profiles than my own, but so far I haven't seen anything alerting us to the fact that the libs have already declared open season on Baby Jesus. In fact, the closest thing I could find in the news similar to the persecution I had to endure at my job today is over at Agape Press, where I'm happy to read that an Air Force pilot and chaplain are opposing a lawsuit that tries to prevent People of Faith from proselytizing while on duty, on the grounds it threatens "their ability to share their faith and to candidly discuss religion." As far as I know, no Jews (or misc.) work here to be offended by my Witnessing, so I don't see why Conchita's always telling me to tone it down.

Their act of resistance is an act of genuine inspiration, something I'm in dire need of, especially after getting the final tally of our dismal showings in the elections. Today was also opening day in the Global War on Christianity here at the Beauty Palace, with the announcement of the annual "holiday" party on December 2nd and the naming of those on the decorating committee. Guess who isn't on it? I can only assume it's meant to be a rebuke from last year, when I made a creche out of my old Conair rollers with a banner written in lip liner that said, "For unto you a Savior is born," and put it on the reception desk. Conchita said it was too "explicit," which was an obvious load of hooey, since curlers don't have anything that even comes close to resembling genitalia. She made me take it down, despite my protestations. Fortunately it's locked away in storage, so nobody coming into Conchita's for a cut & color will be unduly harmed by exposure to God's Glory.

My coworkers couldn't wait to come rub my face in it, either. "So, Nancy Beth," said X, one of Conchita's pet stylists, "will you and Jesus be coming to the holiday party?" He aspirated the h in holiday so hard he rustled the pages of the appointment book. "[Same-Sex Partner] and I would love to sit with you. I keep telling him about the incredible outfits you put together."

Fuck you, dick. "No," I said in as business-like a tone as I could muster,"I've got an important church meeting that night," which wasn't a total lie. The Filipino folk mass has their rehearsals on Friday nights, so who's to say I won't show up with my flute from high school band and jam with them? Anything would be preferable to sitting with these pagans.

Today is crawling by and I can't wait to get home. Somehow I managed to schedule two 1:30 appointments for the manicurist Conchita wanted available for walk-ins, and only one of these clients pulling a no-show saved my hide. If Conchita found out, I'm sure it would be another patronizing lecture on my inability to follow instructions. "Sorry, lady, but I take my orders from a higher commander, " I'm ready to tell her. Oh well, just as Arnold must make the most out of the terrible hand the Fates have dealt him, so must I. To the salt mines, then...


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