Mene mene tekel parsin

Loosely translated:  “Sometimes,  / When I look deep in your pants, / I swear I can see your soul.”

Ha ha!  Just kidding.  But remember that terrible song “Sometimes” by that medium-terrible band, James?  James:  because what the world needs now is more Irishmen singing.  He didn’t actually say “pants,” but it would have been a better song if he had.  Hey, and look, it’s a bunch of guys wearing dresses!  I suppose this is all my fault, too.  Not the bananas, though.

In the past week, there has been a lot of soul-searching.  Unfortunately, it’s mostly been people searching each other’s souls and — you’ll never guess! — finding them wanting.

Yipes!

I, of course, am not guilty of this.  No, I certainly haven’t spent the last several days wrapped in a semi-hysterical nimbus of self-righteousness.  I haven’t been following my husband around and making him reassure me, over and over and over again, that I’m a perfectly good wife most of the time.  My prayer life hasn’t consisted mostly of, “Did you hear that guy?!?”

Well, just to show that I can be old-fashioned, too, let’s go back in time and revisit and old game — and do a little soul-searching of our own souls for a change.  Not such a scenic route, is it?  I think there’s a whole series of books out on it by now, and I remember that Ironic Catholic had a contest at one point.  It’s so much fun:  Six Word Autobiographies.

Here are the ones I came up with a few years ago:

Last I checked, I deserve less.

Still a bum, just much busier.

I’ve secretly always wanted a dog.

Seven unmedicated births, fine; telephones, terrifying.

Married to Bach, trysting with Brahms.

and my favorite:

Help! Help, help, help!  Oh, thanks.

Okay, so what are yours?  Your life in six words.  Go!