(Full disclosure: The guy wasn't really an angel. He worked at Holy Land part time for minimum wage and no benefits, the Human Resources rep telling him, intermittently lapsing into King James English as Christian theme-park workers tend to do, "Have faith in the Lord, and ye will not need any benefits from us, lo. And thou needeth not flu shots, either. Verily.")
(Just for the record, the guy -- his name was (and is) Henning Girlkell -- worked nights at a Band-Aid factory, carrying the lingering fragrance of that prophylactic for minor cuts and abrasions on his person 24-7, eliminating all but desperate perverts from his dating options.)
(Obviously, most of us simply are not drawn to the smell of Band-Aids, esp. in moments of feverish intimacy.)
(Really off putting, actually, now that we think of it.)
"They say really good Scotch tastes a lot like Band-Aids," Tally said, reaching for and grasping Howard's hand with a gesture our Great Nation's First Lady would not make even under the threat of a marathon waterboarding session.
Howard hadn't noticed the olfactory issue. Instead, he had his nose in the Map of God's World as Faithfully Depicted in the Bible. What to see first?
Noah's Ark Water Park! Perfect!
The couple began by enjoying the "Antediluvian Zero-Depth Wading Pool." For 10 minutes they played among children and old people, splashing each other playfully, while a praise band cranked out such favorites as "Shall We Gather by the River," "Atlantis" and "Drowning in the Love of the Lord."
|And you thought it was just a story.|
In mid-splash a strident warning bell went off, signaling the "Sinful Nation Inundation," and, as the wee folks and the geezers "raced" to safety, the heavens (a dense cluster of elephant showers) unleashed their fury, giving the guests a brief taste of the terror felt by all the people Noah had unfriended while building his ark.
Squeezing the water from her wedding gown (for first-time readers, she and Howard had bolted from their wedding earlier in the day -- a day so crammed with significant events they dwarfed James Joyce's chronicle of Leopold Bloom's busy June 16, 1904 in the Irish legend's hefty Young Adult novel Ulysses), Tally reflected on the Holy Land's first contribution to her spiritual growth: "Howard, if we ever walk by a house where some dude is building a massive boat, using cubits as his unit of measure, we must remember to be really nice to him. No mocking!"
"Succinctly stated, my saturated sweetie! Now choose our next attraction. For me, the Sodom, Gomorrah and Napalm exhibit sounds fun, as well as the one called 'Being Isaac,' about Abraham and his kid."
Hmm. A "Being Isaac" attraction. What would that entail? And what Almighty-related edification might our young protagonists secure from said sacred, somber son-sacrificing simulation, what succor, satisfaction, serenity, sagacity, sapience, solace . . .