And no it wasn’t just “Eww!” It was super-ew. Black tarry squish like some sort of octopus slug tarry-inked me. I tried to wipe it off and all it did was somehow expand?
I sprinted to the hose, perhaps (definitely) shouting “Ewww!” the whole time and “Why???”. The hose did nothing other than allow me to spread the sticky tar across my whole hand.
But since I was in the middle of taking out the trash and didn’t want to stop that just to wash my hand to just have to return to the remaining unpleasantry known as taking out the trash I just went back to the cans and sprinted with them down the driveway. By the end of the driveway all I could say (and yes, out loud to myself) was something my Gramma Grinko always said: “Water washes away everything but sin.” Ignoring the fact that water actually could not wash this away I said it over and over until I was back inside, went to the sink, soaped up and scrubbed and still somehow my hand was still sticky? Only when I used Dawn dish detergent did it come off. Hooray!
So let’s focus for a minute on what water cannot wash away — Thanks Gramma for the reminder that I need to go to confession! Because there is no amount of water that can wash away my sin; for that I need the merciful Sacrament of Confession.
To expand on that for a moment longer: I’ve been half-heartedly meaning to go to Confession for a few months now. I’ve been ignoring the tug. On Saturday I actually went to a confessional line and saw it was long so left. So yeah, I need to go to Confession — but now I feel like I’m three-quarters-heartedly ready to get myself there…