Salvation History According to Liz (a.k.a. let's just throw Eve under the bus and be done with her)

I interrupt my day in my sick bed to bring you more thoughts on my last post . . . But first, I need to give you a warning that - even though some of the characters and circumstances in today's story may seem hauntingly familiar - I would never complain about my own life.

That being said, we may now proceed to my revised version of Salvation History.

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The life of womankind would have been much improved if our friend Eve had waited 'til Adam took the first bite.


You see, the minute that hussie led Adam down the wrong path and they were banished from that garden for good, suddenly the bone-from-my-bones and flesh-from-my-flesh thing was over. . . and so was the a-man-must-leave-his-father-and-mother-and-cling-to-his-wife-and-the-two-become-one stuff. . .


Clinging was now a thing of the past. . .


From that moment on, Adam decided to keep his own counsel, for it appeared that Eve had screwed him over pretty good. Adam pledged to himself that never again would he let a woman gain the upper hand. And so the deadliest of the eight plagues ever to hit mankind descended upon Adam - emotional constipation. (Seriously! Moses had nothing on this guy. . . . ) And Eve's punishment was to accept the consequences. . . for she now knew that her little foray into the apple orchard had gained her the knowledge that life stunk.


Oh, yes . . . and one more thing. . . Eve now knew that she would be a slave to fashion for the rest of her life, for now Adam saw some lumps and bumps where he hadn't before. .


But life, never-the-less, went on for our first couple. . . . Adam went to work in the fields. . . Eve stayed back to toil in the home. . . Cain, Abel, and Witchy grew to have some pretty infamous fights. . . And, through it all, Adam kept to himself. . . coming home at night. . . pouring himself a glass of single-malt scotch. . . and turning on ESPN.

Oh yes, and once a year - on Mother's Day - Adam sent Eve a greeting card saying something to the effect of. . . I know I don't tell you often enough how much I love you. . .


And - despite her somewhat dire predicament - poor little Eve tried her best to return to the bone-from-my-bones relationship which she had found so comforting in the pre-apple phase of their lives. . . perfectly coating herself with fig leaves in the summer and leopard skins in the winter. . . fashioning herself a pretty little thong from a nearby grape vine (Ouch!) . . . harnessing fire so they could cozy up to it at night. . . inventing the wheel so they could hop in the car and go places together . . . she even sliced bread so they could stop and have a picnic along the way. . . let's face it. . . that woman did everything she could - short of pouring a bottle of Drano down his throat while he slept. . .

But, my friends, a plague is a plague. And once God sends it down, there's no reversing it.

And so the only thing that ever changed for our leading lady was that - with each passing year - her bones-from-his-bones needed a bigger leopard skin in order to cover her flesh-from-his-flesh. (A condition - I might add - that was also a consequence of eating that apple. . .and one which might, indeed, qualify as the ninth deadliest plague. . . )

So here's the part where I throw Eve under the bus for good.

Why didn't she just leave Adam to his own devices? We all know that Adam would have tasted that apple sooner or later. . . and when he did, he never would have shared with her. . . cause guys are selfish like that. . . and Eve could have remained in the garden, while Adam was banished . . . leaving her with no laundry to do. . . so she could have invited her girlfriends over . . . . and they would have had one big fig-leaf-truth-or-dare-dance-party and stood sharing secrets and waving to their husbands and sending them greeting cards that said Wish you were here! from the other side of the wall. . .

Okay, I realize that we would have had a wee problem with the propogation of the species, but God's smarter than we are and would have figured that all out on his own.

And, yes, I am delirious from the fever. . .

p.s. and for all you perfectionists out there who may have a problem with my representation of a few facts. . . I realize that if I wanted to be geographically accurate, I would have had Adam pouring himself a glass of Jamison's or Bushmill's - for every one knows that the Garden of Eden was in Ireland, not Scotland!