The Church Key to Hypocrisy
By: Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
It started with cornbread.
Two boxes of Jiffy. Two eggs. No regular milk.
A tragedy.
Fortunately, I had evaporated milk.
Unfortunately, opening the can introduced an entirely different theological problem.
The church key.
For those unfamiliar, a church key is a little metal contraption designed to punch holes into cans and open bottles.
Including beer bottles.
Yes.
Beer.
Alcohol.
The devil's fermented apple juice.
Somewhere along the way, somebody decided that naming an alcohol-opening device after a religious institution was perfectly acceptable.
And nobody apparently stopped to ask whether the church approved of its new career in beverage distribution.
Now, before somebody comes knocking on my door with a Bible and a strongly worded pamphlet, I understand that not every church condemns alcohol.
Some permit drinking.
Some discourage it.
Some serve wine during communion.
Some would probably prefer you didn't arrive at Sunday service carrying a twelve-pack of Budweiser.
Fine.
But the whole thing got me thinking.
Why are we so comfortable condemning one thing while openly welcoming another?
Why do we selectively apply our principles depending on whether something inconveniences us?
Take dating.
I want a fling.
There.
I said it.
A fling.
Not a marriage proposal.
Not a joint checking account.
Not a mortgage.
Not a five-year relationship plan involving two children, a golden retriever, and matching Christmas pajamas.
A fling.
Two consenting adults enjoying each other's company without pretending they're auditioning for a lifetime commitment.
Apparently, this is a controversial concept.
Because somewhere out there, somebody hears the word fling and immediately decides that what I actually need is a serious relationship.
Sir.
Madam.
Distinguished members of the Relationship Improvement Committee.
I did not submit an application.
I didn't ask for my romantic ambitions to undergo a performance review.
I didn't request a five-year development plan.
I didn't authorize anybody to upgrade my fling into a marriage subscription.
Yet here we are.
And here's what fascinates me.
People will defend their freedom to pursue whatever makes them happy, then turn around and question somebody else's freedom to do exactly the same thing.
You want commitment?
Wonderful.
Find commitment.
You want marriage?
Excellent.
Find somebody who wants marriage.
You want to spend your weekends sitting together on the couch watching television while arguing over which restaurant to order from?
Godspeed.
But why does my desire for something casual suddenly become a problem that requires correction?
I'm not asking anybody to abandon their principles.
I'm not asking somebody who wants commitment to settle for casual intimacy.
I'm certainly not suggesting that anybody owes me affection, attention, or access to their body.
I'm asking people to respect the same freedom of choice they expect for themselves.
That's it.
If we're incompatible, we're incompatible.
Shake hands.
Throw the deuces.
Move along.
No villains required.
But don't tell me that your personal preference is a universal moral obligation.
That's not compatibility.
That's recruitment.
And I already served four years in the Navy.
I'm not reenlisting.
Which brings us back to the church key.
A tool named after a religious institution that became famous for opening alcoholic beverages.
A perfectly ordinary object carrying a wonderfully contradictory nickname.
And somehow, nobody loses sleep over it.
But tell somebody you want a fling instead of a serious relationship?
Suddenly, the Relationship Inquisition has assembled.
The torches are lit.
The pamphlets are printed.
And somebody is asking when you're going to settle down.
My brother in Christ.
I WAS TRYING TO MAKE CORNBREAD.
I wasn't trying to discover the theological foundations of modern dating.
I wasn't trying to challenge the institution of marriage.
I wasn't trying to establish the First Church of Casual Relationships.
I just needed two-thirds of a cup of milk.
And now we're discussing morality, hypocrisy, sexual autonomy, and the cultural significance of a glorified hole puncher.
All because I didn't have regular milk.
Anyway.
The oven is preheated to 400 degrees.
The evaporated milk has been diluted.
The church key has fulfilled its sacred duty.
And I remain unmarried.
Praise be.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Mr. Jerry's Unsolicited Advice:
Want what you want. Let other people want what they want. And stop trying to turn somebody else's fling into your personal renovation project.
Also, refrigerate your evaporated milk.
Even hypocrisy has an expiration date.