God told me to kick you in the nuts

Sometimes I have the perfect retort to someone's comment. But sometimes it's also best not to use it.

The other day, Argotnaut and I were downtown, being all lovey and walking hand in hand and shee-it. We stopped at a traffic light and, while waiting for the walk signal (or "Ampelmann," a term which still makes Argotnaut weepy-eyed in its evocations of Heidelberg), we were accosted by one of those raving street preacher types. I'm assuming they have a few of these guys in every larger city, even though I've only run across them in Chicago, Milwaukee and Portland. So I will only provide a short description: haggard, gaunt, lanky, bearded, baseball-capped, grimy windbreakered. As A and I waited, his continuous spiel about the wrath of God and the coming Judgment and the word of God in the Bible and so forth shifted to us. "Yeah, you're smilin' now," he intoned/croaked, "but soon you'll meet face to face with God! And you won't be smilin' then, no sirree, you'll be terrified and you won't be smilin' then..."

At that point, I was prepared to turn to him and say, "Actually, I spoke to God this morning. He said that I'd meet you on the street today. And he told me I should kick you in the nuts. Not my thing, usually, but, you know, God's will be done and all."

Of course, I didn't say this. Nor did I "roshambo" him. But lo, I was sorely tempted Lord, I was sorely tempted.