.....You mentioned you wanted to know the scandals down here. I figured out a good theory as to why Sister Marie, my English teacher, might have become a nun. She is constantly talking about marriage problems and crimes of passion. I have figured out that she killed her lover and her lover's lover and to escape persecution by the law hid out in a convent. One night, while she was posing as a student, she happened to catch one of the films that was being shown during the Convent Religious Film Festival. The film was a prophetic one. She might have seen "Going My Way" or "The Bells of St. Mary's" (the winner of the Joe Ogilvie Religious Film Fun Award) or "Green Pastures" or "Heaven Can Wait" but no. The film she saw was "Brother Orchid" with the now-dead Edward G. Robinson. She realized the wrongs she wrought and said, "I've been a bad girl" and signed up to really become a nun at Our Lady of Euthanasia. She says she now spends her days doing to the English language what men used to do to her.
The BS girl appeared again without her catch-phrase. There are two possible reasons for this. (1) She has a look-alike sister who did not come here. (2) The monks cut her tongue out.
Ma Fowler, my fencing teacher, is a charming woman, with or without her cigars. She seemed to take special delight in jabbing me the other day. (Some wiseacre said I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy.) The only reason I see for her aggressiveness is a statement she made on opening day. She crossed her fingers and said "Me and Sister Marie are just like this" and she indicated her crossed fingers. "I don't hate men," Ma told me in private later, "but I sure as hell don't see any reason to be nice to 'em." I probably don't have the best of partners either. Every time I lunge at her, she screams or lets out a short breath of air (either from her mouth or the gaping hole I just made in her body). She's also afraid to hit me with the foil. I said something to her about it and told her I wasn't afraid of getting hurt and that she shouldn't be either. But she tried to cover it up by saying that she didn't feel like doing it anymore since she found out that you couldn't hit below the belt.
Speaking (or writing rather) of people talking in their sleep, so does my roommate Hassan except he talks in Arabic. I went to the trouble to translate it last night and found out it meant, "My roommate is a fascist pig who will not see the light of day." Must have been a bad dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment