I was raised Catholic, so naturally I had to go to confession every Sunday after church. For those who don’t know, confession is where you sit in a small cell with a priest and tell him everything you’ve done wrong. It’s a lot like seeing a therapist, except it’s free, and instead of getting actual advice, you are told that Jesus forgives you.
Must…not…make…molestation…joke…gahhhh
The first time I went to confession was in 2nd grade. After I confessed my sins to the priest, he told me to say two Hail Marys (the first one was just to make sure Jesus was paying attention, I guess). When I got out, I said, “Dear Jesus, I don’t actually know the Hail Mary. Please forgive me, I’m only 8.”
But anyway, here are some confessions.
First of all, I really don’t like the Kid Rock song “All Summer Long.” I know, I know…how can I not, right? He sings about “smoking funny things” and listening to “Sweet Home Alabama!” And helloooo, it’s summer. But every time I’m in the car with someone and this song comes on, it’s, “Yes!!! Turn it up, bra!” Even if this song was good, I still couldn’t forgive him for “Bawitdaba.”
Fail.
I also want to confess that half the reason I ever go to Walgreens is so I can look at myself in the mirrors that hang on the wall/ceiling in the back of the store. The other half is to get birth control.
Lastly, I want to confess that I had a really hard time trying to come up with things I want to confess. This means that I am really bad at remembering things, or I am just a heartless bastard. Probably the latter.
Those are my confessions. I won’t say any prayers for you.
