Buddy Becky the Baptist

Buddy Christ lives on top of our stove next to the Smoking Baby who long ago lost her cigarette, the tiny Baby Jesus I once bit into while eating a piece of King Cake, and Schmitty the S'more Reindeer. I like to think Buddy Christ guides me in my culinary life. Sure, I still occasionally burn broccoli, but Buddy Christ does a pretty good job of protecting my family from any food-born illnesses my cooking might cause.

Because he lives on top of the stove, Buddy Christ gets dirty. Not just dirty, but greasy. If you think Jesus Christ got dirty walking the desert in sandals and a robe, just imagine how dirty Buddy Christ gets dodging grease fires and spaghetti sauce spats on top of our stove.

When Buddy Christ gets so disgustingly dirty even I can no longer cast my gaze upon him, it's bath time. I feel a little like John the Baptist when I give Buddy Christ a bath in our sink. Maybe my name should be Buddy Becky the Baptist.