The Great Snot-Prayer Incident of 2024

Last week, I decided to level up my spirituality. Not with quiet reflection or gentle gratitude—no, I went straight for thee, thou, and beseech. Because apparently, God runs a Renaissance Faire and only accepts petitions written in iambic pentameter.

So there I was: dim lights, clasped hands, eyes squeezed shut like I was trying to remember where I left my keys—and also possibly my dignity.

"Oh Lord, I beseech thee..."

My nose itched. Not the polite, 'just-a-tap' kind. This was a deep, subterranean, you-have-betrayed-the-sacred-covenant-of-respiratory-etiquette itch.

"Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change..."

The itch migrated. It evolved. Now it lived in my sinuses, humming show tunes and demanding immediate evacuation.

"And the wisdom to know the difference..."

I felt the pressure build. My cheeks puffed. My ears popped. My soul whispered: This is not wisdom. This is physics.

"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory—"

ACHOOOOO.

It wasn’t a sneeze. It was a biological event. A wet, airborne exclamation point launched at terminal velocity—straight onto my laptop screen… which, due to a tragic oversight involving ‘mute’ and ‘stop video’, was still broadcasting live to my entire team’s Zoom call.

Silence. Then my boss’s voice, soft and deeply confused: *"Uh… OopsAllDay? Are you okay?"

There I was—face red, hair askew, one hand still frozen mid-prayer-clasp, the other instinctively reaching for a tissue while staring at my own horrified reflection in a snot-covered webcam lens.

I didn’t lie. I couldn’t. So I said, deadpan: *"Yeah, just… beseeching too hard, I guess."

The meeting ended. I spent 47 minutes scrubbing keyboard keys with antibacterial wipes and whispering apologies to both God and IT Support.

Moral of the story? If your prayer involves archaic pronouns and nasal congestion, bring tissues. And maybe mute your mic before invoking the divine.

Also, the Holy Spirit does not appreciate biohazardous offerings. Just saying.