God snickers, then says, “Certainly, in just a second.”
He cracks up and slaps me on the back.
“That's the funniest joke I know!”
I reach around and rub my back as best I can.
“Yeah, that's a real rib-tickler, or in this case, a rib-bruiser.”
We spend a few minutes doing much of nothing; our eyes just wandering about.
Still reeling from the slap, I say, “You don't look like I expected.”
“What were you expecting? Long gray hair and a robe? Oh yeah, let's not forget the halo.”
“Now that you mention it, yes. You seem so gentle and frail.”
He chuckles. “Frail? I'm not the one who croaked!”
“Good point.”
We're standing around enjoying our sodas when God casually asks, “You know who I can't wait to play a round of golf with?”
I peek around looking for someone while thinking, “I'm not
