Art by Melissa Mead
God's Gift to Women
by Barbara A. Barnett
"So it's like this, Beth..." God stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned across the bar, close enough for me to smell his cheap cologne. "I'm not omnipotent."
"But you're God." I took a swig of my beer. "The all-knowing."
"Well, yeah, I am omniscient. But that only means all-knowing, and one thing I know for certain is that I'm not all-powerful. That's omnipotence, baby."
I downed the rest of my beer, then frowned at God. I had always imagined him as a benevolent grandfather-type in white robes, standing against a backdrop of puffy clouds and trumpeting cherubs. What I'd gotten instead was a middle-aged man with five o'clock shadow trying to pick me up at happy hour.
"That whole Jesus thing--took a lot out of me, you know?" God gestured for the bartender to bring us another round. "These virgin births are a one-shot deal. I met another god back in the old days who tried more than once and..." God snickered. "Well, let's not talk about that and keep up the illusion that I'm the only Alpha and Omega in town, shall we?"
Sneaking out of work before five on a Friday no longer seemed like the best move I could have made. More ludicrous was that I actually believed this guy was God. I had been ready to throw a perfectly good beer in his face when he scooted his stool closer and offered to buy me a drink. But the moment he said those words--I'm God--I believed him.