Dear Diary,

Free at last, my friends! I am free at last. Jenny’s house is fully repaired and she’s finally moving out of my house.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate guests and I’ll surely miss her great cooking. But one thing I won’t miss is praying for half an hour before every meal. I mean, man! How many more times were we going to reheat the food after it goes cold as Jenny is asking God for intervention in the Korean peninsula? If Jenny had it her way, she’d mention every person on earth by name in her prayers.

“I’ll pray for you,” she tells me as she packs the last of her stuff. “You know you need all the prayers you can get.”

We’ve had this convo before, but I still feign ignorance. “Me? What have I done to deserve all those prayers?”

“You’re a fornicator, Tom, the worst of the worst. Either someone intervenes or you’ll be watching heaven from the outside.”

“First of all, you’re wrong. I’m a serial dater. Big difference. I have as big a success rate with my dates as those people who are conned into joining forex scams. Also, I don’t think I want to go to heaven, anyway. Nothing against the place per se, but it does sound a bit boring. Singing all day while drinking milk and eating honey? Not the most balanced diet there, my friend.”

She wags a finger at me. “You can make fun all you want, but hell is real. Fire and brimstone and all that. Including a fella who tends to love lighting people on fire.”

“Arrow tail and horns and all that?”

She shakes her head. “I’m so glad I’m out of here. You could’ve dragged me down to the inferno with you.”

I keep a smile on my face as I watch members of Jenny’s church choir load her stuff into a van. My serial libido is up in arms over a certain member who looks too pretty to spend her days adjusting crowns in biblical paradise.

She’s toting a lampshade when I approach her. “Hi. Need help?”

She looks at her load and breaks into a galaxy of smiles. “This? It’s only a lamp.”

“Not in the hands of a creature as delicate as you.”

She almost hits the ground. “Oh, my, aren’t you a smooth one. Jenny was right.”

“She was?” It’s my turn to be shocked. “She called me smooth?”

“Yep. As smooth as the devil himself.”

“Well, I’m no devil.” I give her my hand. “Name’s Tom. And you?”

“Carol.”

I shake the softest hand I’ve touched in a while. “Nice to meet you Carol. You should tell me more about your choir sometime. You might be the one to convince me to—”

Jenny steps out of the house and sees us in the driveway. “Oh my God! Carol, get away from him. Touching him alone will condemn you to daily atonement for a week.”

Carol smiles. “C’mon, Jenny, even The Lord Himself found Lazarus worth saving.”

Jenny’s mouth falls open. The box in her arms clatters to the ground. She reels and falls into a dead faint before finding any purchase. Carol and I rush to her. I get her on her back and check her vitals. As I bend over to inspect her eyes, her head lolls to one side and throws up all over my top. Then it comes back to me. The frequent urinating, food aversions, not to mention that lately Jenny’s breasts have kind of gotten bigger.

She comes to and says, “What happened?”

“You’re pregnant,” I tell her. “And you know it’s not mine.”