Jehovah’s Witnesses

I live in the countryside in the middle of nowhere. It’s green, very peaceful and Mermaids show up more frequently than people of faith out here. So it struck me as odd that the weekend before Armageddon was about to be launched in my body (aka FEC chemo) two Jehovah’s Witnesses arrived at my door.

What made this visitation even more surreal was the realisation that the last time a Jehovah’s Witness called on me was 3rd December 1996. I remember it clearly because it was the day after my Mum died from cancer treatment complications aged 47.  I still can’t stand ‘You’re Gorgeous’ by Babybird simply because it was the first song on the radio when Dad and I got in the car to drive home that evening.  I’d been up all night crying and I looked and felt foul.  The unfortunate Jehovah’s Witness who visited me that day got a sharp-tongued rebuke about good, evil and my all too raw experience of a violent death.  She didn’t stay to convince me dying was a gift or being with God was safe and happy… which was a good thing because she was in danger of meeting Him much sooner than she anticipated so fragile was my state of mind at the time.

My two more recent visitors wanted to know if I thought women are treated fairly. Well let me think…. if you count the fact that women still make up a paltry percentage of senior executive roles, are continually expected to be ultra-glamorous, stick-thin, super-woman working-mothers and regularly face the joys of things like polycystic ovary disease, osteoporosis and breast cancer…. gosh it’s a tough one.   But my visitors tell me fear not. None of us need worry (including all you guys out there) because we’re in ‘the last days.’  And if we believe in God like my visitors believe in God then we’ll all go to a happy, harmonious, sun-shiny place where love is all around and life is eternally good.

I’ve nothing against religion and I certainly don’t condone illegal drugs, but crystal meth can take you to la-la land too. Or so I’m told.


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