(paraphrased, with occasional condensing and fictionalization when normal lags in conversation fail to lend themselves to compelling prose. also, when explanations of otherwise understood concepts are necessary, they are added into the conversation as if they actually happened, though, in actuality, they did not)

(phone rings)

Hey, what’s up, it’s me?

Hello. How’s it going?

Good. Just finishing up my last day at work. We’re all gonna go out to celebrate.

For as little as they’ve been paying you, they should buy all your drinks.

I don’t think they’ll do that, Mom

Well, they should. Don’t do anything stupid tonight.

Mom, I always do everything stupid. Surely you know this by now. I’m taking tomorrow (Friday) off so I can rest up. I don’t want to show up for my first day at the new job smelling of gin.

Well, your father always shows up smelling of Natural Light, and he’s had the same job for 30 years. Are you seeing (name of woman Will has gone on occasional dates with) this weekend?

I don’t think so. She’s out of town. You sure do ask about her a lot. I don’t talk to you about girls anymore.

Yeah, I read your column last week. I gathered that. Well, I stopped reading about three-quarters of the way. I don’t know why you write things like that.

I told you not to read them. It’s the best for both of us, trust me.

I’m gathering. Isn’t she Catholic?

Who?

That girl.

(sigh) Yes. She is. Again, though, it’s really not that big of a deal

Is she a good Catholic? Does she go to church every week?

Mom, I feel the need to ask you again why these matters are so important to you. You are a convert to the Catholic Church. You joined six years ago. But when I was a kid, you never went to church. I had to go on my own, with the neighbors coming to pick me up. Then you joined the Catholic Church after a "spiritual awakening," whatever that is. I’m happy for you. It’s certainly improved your life. But why would it make a difference to me whether anyone I hang out with is Catholic? You see, Ma ... I’m not Catholic.

Well, you should be. We’ll work on that. Is she a good Catholic?

Mom, she could be sacrificing goats to her lord Satan and drinking the blood of infidels while having sex with a horse and carving pentagrams into her forehead, and she would still be a better Catholic than me.

Well, I hope she’s not doing that.

I don’t think she is. I can call and check if you’d like

Why don’t you go to church anymore?

I watch football on Sundays.

Church is over with by the time football starts. That’s just an excuse.

Of course it is, Mom. I don’t have a problem with the church, Ma, or Catholicism. I just don’t really care all that much. I’m young and indestructible. I’ll worry about such matters when I’m older and living in the suburbs and car pooling and having my special Friday night dinner at the Outback.

What’s the Outback?

It’s a chain restaurant. They don’t have them in Mattoon. You’re missing my point. I don’t really have time to go to church, and I don’t have an overpowering desire to go anyway.

You used to go to church every Sunday. You went to all the youth group functions and even went to go see Christian concerts. There must have been something there. And don’t give me that "I was just trying to meet girls" crap either.

Mom, I was 15. There were so many sins of the flesh I hadn’t even heard of yet.

I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.

Yeah, that was kind of gross. You’re my mom. I think I just weirded myself out.

I mean, do you realize how hard it is for a mom not to know where her children would go if they were hit by a bus tomorrow?

Well, I appreciate your optimism. What’s the odds on Hell for me?

It’s not odds, Will. I think church would be very good for you. Settle you down a little.

Mom, I spent last evening shopping for televisions and playing video football. I’m not Motley Crue. I live a rather sedate life. I just ... well, I see how much peace church has given you, and I’m always happy to go with you when I’m home, but I have enough about myself to figure out before I start worrying about church

Church will take away some of those worries.

Not if I have to tithe.

I’m just saying, a good Catholic girl would be wonderful for you. You’re not getting any younger. When I was your age, you were three years old.

Mom ... no ... don’t.

I mean, I was at the neighbors the other day, and I saw their kids, and I kept thinking how nice it would be to have grandchildren.

Here we go. Mom, I can’t even take care of my cat.

Well, I’m glad you got that new job anyway. But don’t you want a little balance in your life?

I like my imbalance. And, to be honest, all those statues of a nearly naked Jesus scare me.

Yeah, they scare me too.

Can we talk about this later? The work folks are ready to leave.

Oh, fine. You always cut off these conversations.

I know.

What are you writing about this week?

Oh, you probably. I’m gonna be really busy this weekend, so I’ll probably just dash something off when I have a spare half hour. I hate to do that, but sometimes, you have to.

What will you write about?

This conversation, maybe. I haven’t covered much of the Catholicism stuff in there.

Don’t give out my age.

Mom, honestly, please stop reading my columns. They’ll only make you upset.

And don’t make me sound like some old lady either.

I have to go. Have a nice night. I’ll call you sometime next week.

OK. Don’t give out my age. And go to church. They have such beautiful churches in New York.

Church is on Sundays, right?

Yes. It is.

*BT*

Life as a Loser runs every week. Join the Life as a Loser discussion group at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/onecrappycolumnist.