What in the world is Deak’d do you ask?

Well, that would be what happens when one of your deacons does something cruel and heartless to his preacher’s wife.

Not only has this happened before, but this weekend I found myself the victim once again. Not by the same deacon, mind you. Seems we have an entire board full of devilish dudes just achin’ for a laugh at my expense.

Saturday started out innocently enough. I cooked a typical weekend breakfast of biscuits and gravy, bacon, and eggs. The news called for a warm breeze and sunny skies, (not at all like the weather Friday) so Luke and I called a family work day to clean out the flower beds.

Now, on a normal day I would make some attempt at straightening the kitchen but since our time outside was limited, I left all the dirty dishes figuring I could take care of all that once the sun went down. I also knew one of the deacons, a man whose name starts with Dewayne, was coming over to go visit a family with Luke, so I spent what little time I was willing to waste inside making the living room presentable for when he stopped by.

After hours of work pulling weeds, digging up dead shrubs, and laying out fresh landscape fabric, I left the house for the local nursery to buy a truckbed of mulch. On my return trip, I received text with this picture:

I know this picture is tiny but my re-sizing skillz need polishing. Please comprehend that you are seeing my sink full of dirty dishes. What you can not see is congealed gravy on the stove and leftover biscuits and eggs smeared on the table. You also aren’t seeing my laundry room door wide open to reveal an assortment of dirty clothes, cleaning supplies, and an overflowing garbage can.

Underneath the picture in the text was the message:

“What is this? This place is a pig sty! Is the dishwasher broken?”

For a split second I thought the text came from Luke and I was bumfuzzled. He knew what the kitchen looked like so why in the world would he be sending me such a ….

And that’s when it hit me. It was the deacon whose name starts with Dewayne!

Luke had let him past the living room. Must. Kill. Luke.

I dialed the phone. I didn’t give Luke a chance to say hello before I said, “What in the world did you let him past the living room for?? Can you please tell me what you were thinkin’????!!!!”

And that doofus had me on speaker phone. And I heard thunderous laughter. And I could have just choked the life out of both those men who were not operating at a maturity level adequate for leading a church.

Stupid children.

I pulled back into the driveway and sulked to the outbuilding to get my pitchfork. As if my humilitation over the kitchen weren’t complete, the deacon whose name starts with Dewayne came outside and started taking video of my unshowered, unkempt hair. And if he happens to show you video suggesting I’m telling him what I’m about to do with the pitchfork? Well, I’m sure he photoshopped it.

Because y’all know I wouldn’t do such a thing.

(Can I also say I have a whole new compassion for Britney Spears? Poor baby walking around looking like a dog with someone shoving a camera in her face. I’m totally letting her borrow my garden tools. If she’ll let me borrow her fedora and sunglasses that is…)

So let’s just say I dreaded seeing the deacon at church on Sunday because I knew, I KNEW, I’d catch Round Two. I got to the church house and what? There was no Dewayne?! Come to find out he got a stomach virus and was up sick all night.

(Insert Maniacal Laughter here)

Seems the hex I put on him worked. Either that or the rotten gravy.

So just in case any of the other deacons decide to mess with me? Consider yourself warned. I’ve made friends with a dude named Montezuma and I hear he’s got some mean revenge…

Just ask the deacon whose name starts with Dewayne.