Sunday, June 5, 2016

324. Sweet Thoughts

Gosh, you wouldn’t believe what I saw come walking into the room. I was alone in the house I thought, but no. There was C.W., and describing him is going to be difficult. He was a man of maybe 40, with long black hair tied in a ponytail and a couple of jade earrings. There was a slight covering of rouge on his cheeks. The color matched a long robe he was wearing that had faint outlines of roses printed throughout its length.

This was going to be fun. I decided right away that I would play along with whatever scheme he was up to. “Who the hell are you?” I said.

“Just call me Paulie,” he said, flashing a wrist-wave. “Do you have any wine?”

“I have some Sangria my wife cooks with.”

“Oh babe,” he said, “she does more than cook with it. Trust me. Ever wonder how she uses that much wine just for cooking, or how she puts up with you all day?”

“Would you like some?”

“It’s red darling,” he said. “You know I only drink white.”

“Wait one,” I said. I was going to follow this one wherever it went.

I returned with a small plastic bottle of Sauvignon Blanc left over from an outdoor concert. “How’s this?”

Another wrist flash. “Tawdry but acceptable. You don’t really expect me to drink it from the bottle, do you?”

I went into the kitchen and retrieved a glass. He poured the wine into it and sipped. “Oh dear,” he said. “Cheap wine is the scourge of your species. But sit.”

After I was seated, he smoothed his robe and took another sip. “Speaking of wine,” he said, “the Corinthians are at it again.”

“At what?”

“They’re getting drunk off the communion wine, just like they were before.”

I said nothing He said, “And the little darlings are doing worse than that.”

“How much worse?” This was getting ‘funner’ by the minute.

“They’re doing that awful thing I told them not to.”

Nodding my head as if I understood, I said, “Oh, that thing.”

“Well listen,” he said. “There’s more. They have even invented something they call ‘slow dancing,’ so they can do the dreadful deed while they are standing up.”

“No way!”

“Way,” he said. “Every day I thank the Galilean for the thorn in my side. It keeps me out of so much mischief.” He stopped and thought for a few seconds. “Well there is Timmie, but I’ve been traveling alone lately.” He quickly tacked onto a new course. “Speaking of the Galilean, he’s at it again.”

“At what?”

“Oh, he’s in therapy once more.”
Innocent fun, or practice to be a baby-daddy?
I report. You decide. - C.W.

“What for?”


“What’s he depressed about?”

“Oh, all those things he truly despises.”

“Like what?”

He sipped his wine. “Oh, you know.” He raised a hand and began to count off with this fingers. “Divorce, love of money, judging others, not loving your neighbor, hypocrisy, being mean to the poor, … and just being a total jerk in general.” He sipped, “And of course my main one.”

“What’s that?”

“Being obsessed with, and even bragging about, that thing I tell folks not to do.”

“And he sees folks doing all those things?”

"Oh, honey, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but some people have always done that.”

“You know, if you weren’t so darned slow on the uptake, I’d take you in my lap and cuddle with you, you’re so cute.”

“I’m married,” I said.

“We all have our thorns,” he said.

“So the Galilean is depressed?”

“Very much so. We had to get Peter, what a cute name … don’t you just love it? Anyway, we had to get Peter to look after him for a few months.”

“But …,” I said.

“But what?” He sipped more of his wine.

“People have been violating those … those … rules, for centuries.”

“They’re more like guidelines than rules, sweetie, and anyway, this time it’s different.

“How so?”

He rolled his eyes. “Pet, don’t you even keep up with the presidential race in your own country?”

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