Nun of your business

I had a most odd encounter yesterday. It was a beautiful, sunny, somewhat warm day. A bit unusual for this time of year. I sat in the park in town reading my newspaper. A few minutes later a nun came and sat on the bench near me. She was in her early fifties, I would say. She opened a lunch-box and started nibbling at her sandwich. A bit odd, I thought, a nun with a lunch box.

A moment or two later she said, "The highway to Heaven is paved with good intentions!"

"Yes," I replied with a smile, "I suppose it is."

She continued eating her lunch and then said, "It will be a glorious day when we get to meet St Peter face to face!"

I stopped reading the article about the increasing price of frying pans and said, "Yes ... I guess it will be a great day!"

She coyly sipped a drink from her thermos flask and then, hesitating, she said, "The angels in Heaven are glad they found the lost sheep!"

It was obvious now was not the time for me to discover why frying pans are so expensive. I looked up from my paper and replied politely, "I guess you're right. Although I doubt there are any animals in Heaven. I would hate to meet the Sunday roast telling me off for having eaten it!"

She looked puzzled. Hesitated again, and then asked, "Are you known as Fire Balls?"

What a cheek, I thought. It is none of her business what I am called in the privacy of my own home. I mean ... for a nun to be so direct and so personal. The Catholic Church has certainly changed from the days when I was young.

She noticed my subdued, hidden anger, silent reaction and then apologised saying, "You do look like Fire Balls. The picture I have got is all creased and you do have a lot of wrinkles on your face; a bit like a bed that's been slept in!"

I was fuming yet retained my composure. What business is it of her what the state of my bed is in and what I am called in it? I would have liked to have answered something intelligent, pointed and articulate but I did not have my dictionary with me at the time.

Before I said anything, she got up and left.

I hate it when people walk away with the last word. Not giving me a chance to respond.

"My face is wrinkly is it?" I thought to myself, "well ... your sandwiches still had the crust on!" Whatever that means ... but at least my mind had composed an answer albeit I never said it.