I was home alone, working in the front garden. One of the priests I know drove by and stopped to say "hello". He did not get out of the car but chatted for a while from his driving seat.
I did not invite him in. Not with a houseful of pole dancers in the front room!
No ... seriously ... I did not invite him in because he said he was in a hurry about an appointment he had to go to.
I replied, "Just as well, I thought the purpose of those wooden confessionals is that you don't see us!"
I could see his brain thinking for a while and then he said, "You should go to Confession regularly, either in our church or another one. But you should go regularly!"
"But I don't sin, Father," I said, "my wife sees to that!"
Again, the cogs and wheels in his brain turned slowly and he said nothing. So I had to continue with, "living with her is like being in Purgatory!"
His eyebrows rose suddenly. Obviously, he knew a thing or two about Purgatory. "Is everything all right ... with your marriage?" he asked.
"Oh yes ... yes ..." I said, "all's well, Father ... in fact it was my wife who introduced me to religion ..." I added to re-assure him.
So I continued, "I did not know what hell was until I met her!"
The smile was wiped off his face quicker than you can say anything you care to say at a moment like this. My sense of humour had gone too far this time. I could see he was worried.
I tried to re-assure him but made things even worse by saying, "Oh, it's not her, Father. It's the mother-in-law ... she keeps leaving her broomstick in the lounge whenever she lands unannounced!"
He stepped back in his car and said, "just as well I am in a hurry for my next appointment. Otherwise you would have got a special sermon for one!"
He waved good-bye and left. I did not know whether to feel sorry for him, or for myself.