Guest Post: Sister Ildephonsus

I’m often asked whether nuns have a sense of humor. I have many answers to this. For example:

– If you had a sense of humor, would you be a nun?

– Two nuns and a dwarf walk into a bar. You’re probably familiar with this thigh-slapper.

– I’m married to Jesus Christ. Dude doesn’t laugh much.

I’m writing this guest post to address the issue of God’s Wife. “God moves in mysterious ways.” I believe that. I’m not married. Does that make me God? The priest at Saint [—–] is not married to those young boys of his. Is he God?

I could have been a wife to some normal guy, you know. In high school, the boys were after me like I was a bitch in heat. I’m not saying that I wasn’t, but even then, I’d only do it in the apse, or out back in the graveyard. Please, no jokes about nuns and their bad habits.

Actually, forget about God’s Wife. That older generation. Who cares about the grandparents? What about Jesus? Is he married? If so, what does his Wife make of all us nuns claiming to be married to Him (except for the superannuated Sister Gerd, the seriously bent Sister Bruce, and the butt-ugly Sister Angelina)? Does Jesus’ Wife laugh it off or does She have it in for us? Are we pathetic? You know, like “I want to marry my daddy when I grow up”? Is She a nun, or an ex-nun? Jesus has got to have some kind of relationship going up there. Of course, there’s the long hair and that dreamy look he’s got in the pictures. The flowing robes. Light on his feet? Jesus, I hope not! Father Brutus says that Jesus and Satan have been spending a lot of time together and that they’ll come out of one of those anterooms to Hell with shit-eating grins on their faces pardon my French.

I’m in one of those tough orders where you shave your head and spend the day washing dishes and scrubbing floors and shelling peas. And for what? I don’t even have some lout sitting in his favorite easychair drinking beer, eating peanuts, and scratching his hairy chest through his wife-beater, ignoring me till he’s hungry or horny or both. What’s the point? This is the twenty-first century. Nobody shells peas anymore. We’ve got an army of undocumented Catholics up from the south to do that.

It says right there in the Book of Something or Other – I can’t keep the damned things straight – that, yes, God has infinite wives. Infinite, meaning numberless or without number. Doesn’t that mean by simple mathematical calculation and proof that I’ve got to be one of them? If it’s infinite, don’t you have to count me in there at some point? So God, please raise the freaking red lantern.

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