Nuns

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“Nuns run bald, through Vatican Halls, pregnant, pleading immaculate conception.”

I haven’t seen many nuns lately, but every single time I do, I think of the above, Bruce lyric.

Back about 47 years ago, nuns were prominently featured in my life. Not so much anymore, but I did see one in line at Starbucks in the Kansas City airport.

I’m not one for Starbucks, usually, but the KC airport is tiny and there are limited choices.

Anywhoha...

There was the nun.

She looked to be about 35, and she was wearing all the garb. Long dark gown, rosary necklace and a habit.

I wondered if she were bald underneath.

She had a pretty face, and she smiled at me. I said, “Hi” back.

Wondered if she would’ve offered me that smile had she known how many beatings I took at the hands of the sisters.

You see, back then, nuns were my mortal enemy.

They didn’t much care for smart-mouth kids and I had a smart mouth.

I imagine that there are nuns teaching children somewhere, but in my mind, I recall them all being really angry.

Now, I deserved it...

...but man, they were quick to do damage!

One of them drove me into a doorknob. Another cuffed me in the face, cutting me like Rocky Balboa, with her freaking “holy” ring.

They all whacked my little ass with a ping pong paddle, and I got the brown soap for swearing too.

Back in Kansas City, the nun looked at me wide-eyed as we both reached for the tea latte.

We had ordered the same thing!

The guy turned the cup around and it read, “Cliff.”

“You aren’t named Cliff too, are you?” I asked.

“No,” she said with a laugh.

Now nuns laugh at me, evidently.

She turned away.

Reached in her pocket and retrieved what looked like the latest I-phone.

A nun with an I-phone!

Whodathunkit?

“Sister,” the guy called out.

She grabbed her latte.

We headed off in opposite directions. Her habit was bouncing as she moved.

I saw hair!

She’s not bald!

Nuns.

Glad we don’t fight anymore.

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