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March 14, 2024
Admission from a Sinner
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
Just about four years ago, Covid hit, and we all needed to stay home for a while. This story is not about Covid. I don’t care if you’re vaccinated or not. Nope, this story involves Covid, but it’s really a story about living in sin.
Back in 1970, I was a young single thing on a mission to find a husband. I had just moved in to a fancy one-and-a-half-bedroom apartment (don’t ask), had a great job and a new car. Life was good. One month later, I snagged a marvelous catch - Dearly Departed Husband. The only drawback was that he lived in Cow Town, and I lived in Big D. He had a nice house with a pool, so I traveled west most nights of the week.
Six months after we started dating, they raised the price of my rent. I can still remember the conversation:
ME: Oh no! They are raising my rent from $225 a month to $250! (Those were the days, weren’t they?) I can’t afford it!
DDH: Well, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you just move in with me?
ME: I’ll see how much I can stuff in my car and be right there.
(You might have noticed there was no talk of marriage in our arrangement. Well, at least, my mother did.)
ME: Mom, guess what? DDH asked me to move in with him!
DDM: What? He wants the milk without paying for the cow?
ME: Mom, I do not resemble a cow. I just know we will get married one of these days.
DDM: Well, you better. You can’t cook Thanksgiving dinner while you’re living in sin!
And so there it was. I was living in sin. Not long after that, things got really ugly. After I’d moved in with DDH, the Census Bureau decided to do a census. They didn’t have a box for Living in Sin, but they did have one for “Person of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters,” which shamed us sinners as we were referred to as POSSLQ’s. Sort of doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?
Well after a couple of years of living in sin, I announced that I would leave Dearly Departed Husband if he didn’t marry me as I could no longer accept being a lowly POSSLQ. Begrudgingly, he agreed, and I’ve gotten to make the dang Thanksgiving dinner ever since.
Flash forward to My Future Husband and me. We both own houses but I had a full-time job, so I stayed on my side of the mountain, and we spent weekends and a weeknight every week together. I had two sets of everything, so the whole not living in sin thing was pretty easy. And at this age, I am no longer worried that I might turn into a POSSLQ again. No Scarlet P for me.
Then, Covid hit. (I bet you were wondering when I’d get to the point.) Anyway, the evening the press announced that we all needed to stay home for six weeks, MFH looked at me and said, “Don’t you think it’s about time we become POSSLQs my darling?” What a romantic.
So that’s what we did. Of course, it’s taken nearly four years to get everything moved in and my house on the market, but we sinners have managed to get ‘er done. I’m still cooking Thanksgiving dinner every year, and no one cares anymore, though I know Dearly Demented Mom is trying to explain to the Big Guy up there why her daughter loves to live in sin.
Back in 1970, I was a young single thing on a mission to find a husband. I had just moved in to a fancy one-and-a-half-bedroom apartment (don’t ask), had a great job and a new car. Life was good. One month later, I snagged a marvelous catch - Dearly Departed Husband. The only drawback was that he lived in Cow Town, and I lived in Big D. He had a nice house with a pool, so I traveled west most nights of the week.
Six months after we started dating, they raised the price of my rent. I can still remember the conversation:
ME: Oh no! They are raising my rent from $225 a month to $250! (Those were the days, weren’t they?) I can’t afford it!
DDH: Well, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you just move in with me?
ME: I’ll see how much I can stuff in my car and be right there.
(You might have noticed there was no talk of marriage in our arrangement. Well, at least, my mother did.)
ME: Mom, guess what? DDH asked me to move in with him!
DDM: What? He wants the milk without paying for the cow?
ME: Mom, I do not resemble a cow. I just know we will get married one of these days.
DDM: Well, you better. You can’t cook Thanksgiving dinner while you’re living in sin!
And so there it was. I was living in sin. Not long after that, things got really ugly. After I’d moved in with DDH, the Census Bureau decided to do a census. They didn’t have a box for Living in Sin, but they did have one for “Person of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters,” which shamed us sinners as we were referred to as POSSLQ’s. Sort of doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it?
Well after a couple of years of living in sin, I announced that I would leave Dearly Departed Husband if he didn’t marry me as I could no longer accept being a lowly POSSLQ. Begrudgingly, he agreed, and I’ve gotten to make the dang Thanksgiving dinner ever since.
Flash forward to My Future Husband and me. We both own houses but I had a full-time job, so I stayed on my side of the mountain, and we spent weekends and a weeknight every week together. I had two sets of everything, so the whole not living in sin thing was pretty easy. And at this age, I am no longer worried that I might turn into a POSSLQ again. No Scarlet P for me.
Then, Covid hit. (I bet you were wondering when I’d get to the point.) Anyway, the evening the press announced that we all needed to stay home for six weeks, MFH looked at me and said, “Don’t you think it’s about time we become POSSLQs my darling?” What a romantic.
So that’s what we did. Of course, it’s taken nearly four years to get everything moved in and my house on the market, but we sinners have managed to get ‘er done. I’m still cooking Thanksgiving dinner every year, and no one cares anymore, though I know Dearly Demented Mom is trying to explain to the Big Guy up there why her daughter loves to live in sin.