Guilty pleasures

I set the smoking marshmallows directly onto half a graham cracker holding half a Hershey Bar, and smooshed another cracker on top. The chocolate immediately began to melt.

Sitting in my back yard under a twilight-blue sky, my feet up, a cool breeze wafting by, I shoved a corner of the concoction into my mouth and bit down. I hadn’t had a "smore" since I was a kid, and I wasn’t disappointed.

In a way, this was more important than balancing my checkbook, mowing the lawn, finishing that article that’s been hanging over my head, or completing a host of other chores on my to-do list. This was one of those moment-long vacations we all have to take now and then in order to keep from going insane.

These guilty pleasures range from plopping on the couch on a Saturday afternoon when you’re supposed to be cleaning the garage, to downing an order of fries on your way home to tuna loaf, to curling up with "Entertainment Weekly" instead of a theological text.

If you’re like me, you tend to feel guilty far too often for these simple pleasures. We feel guilty about eating too much, relaxing too much, watching too much TV, spending too much time on the computer, spending too much money, not eating enough vegetables, not taking vitamins, being lazy, being hungry, living and breathing.

My plans for last Saturday were set in stone as early as the previous Monday. I was going to mow my lawn, trim the weeds, edge the walk, clean the gutters, paint the bathroom, deflea the dog, and straighten up a few debris-strewn areas in the house.

I woke up at about 7 a.m. (Why can’t I ever sleep in on weekends? Why?!), ate my Cocoa Puffs and went to get dressed. Have you ever noticed that when you pass your bed after getting up early in the morning, it seems to have suddenly acquired a gravitational pull? I started orbiting around it like the MIR space station. As much as I fought it, the pull was just too much.

I read an old sci-fi novel for a while, got up, decided to turn on the news for a minute before heading out, and noticed that an old movie was just starting. Robert Redford and George Segal were plotting to steal a giant diamond from a museum. Heist movies get me every time. It’s something about the cool devices they use to get by the guards and sensors.

Another guilty pleasure, come to think of it.

Anyway, seeing as it was just starting, and seeing that there just happened to be a couch sitting directly in front of the TV (what were the chances?), I realized that it must be fate, and who am I to tempt fate? When I arose two hours later, I found that gravity had once again increased dramatically. This time I could feel all my 190 pounds being dragged to the floor. Each step was like moving a big bag of sand dipped in molasses. I figured a little physical activity would be just the thing to put the boing back in my bounce.

It was about noon. I went outside and found the temperature to be approximately 375 degrees. As much fun as it is to mow in this weather, I didn’t want to risk evaporation, as my neighbor had a few days earlier. One minute he was mowing, the next he was a little cloud of steam. Besides, it was lunchtime.

Not one to mess with preparing food that requires more than two ingredients, I slapped some peanut butter on a flour tortilla, rolled it up, grabbed a bag of Doritos, and plopped down on the couch. I would follow my sandwich with a bowl of cereal, the movie "Signs," and, in the end, would get absolutely nothing accomplished the entire day.

Or did I? (I bet you didn’t see this coming.)

Still on the couch around 5 p.m., I began to think about all that I hadn’t accomplished, and the more I did, the guiltier I felt. I looked to God (as I always do when I’m feeling like a bum), and told Him I was sorry. Not only had I not worked, but I could have at least practiced my painting, exercised my piano rolls, or worked on my non-existent novel. Man, did I feel guilty. I had wasted the day by reading, watching some old movies, eating some tasty treats, and getting some well … needed … rest.

With that, God uttered two words loud and clear, "Not guilty."