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"We never pray together anymore," my wife said over pancakes.

It was IHOP night. I was confused. We had never prayed a day in our lives. I didn't want to walk into some sort of trap.

"Sure we do. Remember last week. I think it was Tuesday. We both got up at 6:30 before work and prayed for all the Muslims. And you said you thought God was telling you to stop watching Dr. Phil."

She cut off a part of her pancake that had not been touched by syrup and wrapped it in a napkin. She held it with two fingers and made a face like she wanted to punch something in the throat. She put the napkin in her purse. I had made a crucial mistake. I hadn't been to work in over a month.

"I know how hard it is for you to get up before noon, but once a week isn't going to cut it."

She was right. We were going to hell, calmly and stupidly. And with indifference. Just the way a baby does.

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