I've had a lot of time to think about hell lately. I used to think hell was quite possibly the worst of everything. A proverbial assault of your senses. Such as repeatedly watching a horrid scene and unable to do anything about it. The shrillest sound whirling in your ears. The worst pain imaginable (I thought a kidney stone was pretty bad.) A horrid putrid smell.
But I was wrong. I know this now because I've had a glimpse of my own personal hell.
I was way off on the scenery. While there is something to see - you are unable to make out much of it because it is so dark. Not pitch dark - but dark enough that you can see words and shapes - but dim enough not to make any of them out.
The worst noise is still there - but it is not like a siren, or an alarm, rap music or even a baby screaming. It is an endless montage of radio play by play of a football. IS THERE ANYTHING WORSE than radio coverage of any sport? No, there is not. But football is the worst.
What's worse than Limburger cheese mixed with sewage? I'll tell you. 50 different sweet smelling perfumes all mixed together. You can't even breath after that!
And while a kidney stone is a horrible pain where if someone would have opted to stick a needle in my eye I would have done it - I have to say an ice cream headache is much worse. It only lasts 10 seconds - but it seems like a year. Yes, I have to say a perpetual ice cream headache would be an appropriate hell trait.
And where did I get my glimpse of Hell? A store called Hollister. I'll take the blame for the ice cream headache - I didn't need the double chocolate chip mint frappacino - and as punishment God granted me an ice cream headache as we were standing in line to purchase a shirt. Is it too much to ask to turn up the lights so we can see what were doing prior to purchasing a $26 Tee shirt that looks like it belongs in a rag bag? And turn down the inane play by play and for the love of god - does perfume have to permeate every inch of this store? Oh, my head hurt as I pounded the ice cream headache with my fist.
As we left the store with every sense assaulted - my darling sweet daughter knew I was discombobulated and suggested we go to Macy's. "They've got stuff in there even grandmas can wear."
Ouch. You check your pride at the door of Hell, too.
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