Poultry, Prophylactics And Creepy Clothing

The last time I had been in the vet's office with my rescued kitten, Marshmallow, the receptionist had told me to turn in my resume with them, as she needed a part-time replacement. That was on a Friday. My dad helped me make one up over the weekend, and I was sure to include my stint as a volunteer at my little brother's preschool, where I "cleaned up vomit" if one of the children got sick, because "the teacher had a weak stomach." Fortunately the little girl in question had only been eating popcorn, but I had cleaned up much worse at home from my own cats, and figured that would be a useful skill in a vet's office.
For once, I was really excited about applying for a job. I liked the staff and doctor, and thought I could learn much about taking care of animals. So that Monday I drove for the first time by myself, as I had gotten my license about a week before.
My parents told me not to worry too much about looking professional, but the vet had on one of the earlier visits thought that I was eleven (a twelve-year difference, which is a personal record), so I figured I could not look too old or too competent. I wore black slacks, a red blouse, and put my hair in a bun. I noticed that the receptionist always had her hair done up in a fancy style, so I added a large metal butterfly clip in the back.
"The kitty's fine," I explained. "I'm just dropping off my resume."
I was surprised at how easy it was to do once I got there, but even more surprised at how normal it seemed to be driving by myself. I felt that I was constantly tempting fate, but somehow that was okay.
The last thing I wanted to do afterwards was to go home, and I decided I had errands to run. There was something I had wanted to do for a long time now.
I remembered the last time I had been in this particular store, only a few days after getting my license, hearing the song, "Jesus Take The Wheel."
I bought an ice cream bar, dark red lipstick (hoping I would look professional and competent wearing it) and, though I was somewhat nervous, condoms.
I had found them right next to the diapers, which in a funny way made perfect sense. It was like they were sending a deliberate message: "If this doesn't work, you're gonna need this."
I was surprised that I didn't have to show ID to get them, but I didn't question it.
On the way home I passed a church sign saying, "Worried about where your soul is going after you die? Call this number to find out." It was a local number, meaning some pastor or other resident decided to post his number in public, potentially exposing himself to prank calls or atheists looking for trouble. It was a bit tempting, though I didn't want to get a headache from aggravation or look like an asshole.
I was feeling judgmental. Those baby chicks should be in a pen, I thought, driving by the church. I don't care how good a mom that hen is, that's just irresponsible. I prefer to lock my baby animals up until they're fully grown, just to be safe.
I thought of stealing the whole family, PETA-style. After all, I have a coop, and I could be saving their lives. But I didn't think I could catch them all, or do it without being caught.
I fantasized about the note I would leave:

"Dear Bible-Thumpers,

Next time buy a fucking coop! No matter how great a mom she is, the babies could still get run over, or eaten by a cat or a hawk. Life is precious, as it's possibly the only thing we have, the only chance there is.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Atheist Chicken-Thief (Who Has A Goddamned Coop)

P.S. I'm going to bring those babies up right, and teach them that there is no god. Hope you like chickens to fry!"

Then I would go to their church the next Sunday and see if they condemned my love of animals as thievery or called animals their property. That is, if the chickens were even owned by the church and not by one of its neighbors. If only I wouldn't be caught...I sighed.
Pulling onto my road, I was thinking about my blog, and the "next step" in my atheist activism. I hoped I would get the chance to debate theists someday, though that would involve "coming out" to my family about my non-belief and my blog activity. I planned to join my college's debate club at the start of the term, and hoped I could get enough signatures to start an atheist/humanist/secularist/freethinkers club. Thirty student signatures were required, though some classes typically had less than ten students (I was even once in a class in which there was only one other student). If I could only get it going, in spite of whatever opposition we had, I was sure somebody from the bible study club would love to debate us.
My thoughts were stopped short when I noticed two forked-horn deer next to the road. Next to them were a mama and two babies, still with their spots. I stopped, staring at them in awe, wishing I had something to feed them. I stayed there for about ten minutes, watching them eat fallen apples from the neighbor's front yard, making the neighbors think I was creepy, I'm sure. But I didn't care. One of the bucks stared at me curiously, and I pretended to chew my cud, causing him to relax again. I watched them until they all leaped away.
How can God possible disapprove of my life? I thought. If He is real, and I was just thinking about what I would do next to promote atheism...or at least change people's minds about atheists...
I guess even as an atheist I still sometimes see God in the beauty of nature. I'm still not certain that that's real evidence, though, and I don't think a theist would like my interpretation of His messages.
The next day I got the condoms out from where I had hidden them in my backpack. I did something long denied to me as a home-schooler, and something I had always wanted to do: I rolled a condom onto a banana. I've finally joined the rest of the normal world, I thought. Is this really how big a penis is? Surely not as big as the banana? And how am I supposed to feel these "ribs" when they're so tiny? Oh well, I guess they're better than nothing.
And now I can be sexually active, I thought. I wonder if I'll meet someone I like?
I thought of Ben, the innocent Christian boy whom I haven't seen in a while, and whom I haven't gotten over. The phrase "I have condoms" would probably have scared him away. He was probably too "pure" as well to say yes. But there wasn't anyone I wanted to fuck more.
I put the remaining condoms away, sighing. I wondered if I would use them by their 2018 expiration date (which sounded a little dangerous to me, as I had heard condoms expired within six months). I wanted them to be more than water balloons, but only if I was in love.
That night my mother  ran into my room, excited. "Look what was in that box of clothes my cousin sent us!" she said. She held up a t-shirt promoting her cousin's high-school volleyball team. It looked like this:

 

I was flabbergasted.

I laughed uncomfortably, struck speechless. Even without believing in Him, "God" still occasionally creeps me the fuck out.

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