Things You Shouldn't Discuss....

There are two things you aren’t supposed to discuss in mixed company: politics and religion.

(Ironically, that leaves hyper-realistic descriptions of personal illnesses wide open, which explains some of those Christmas letters I get from relatives with long narratives documenting their various surgeries. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if someone sends me holiday themed x-rays next year.)

However, after yesterday’s inauguration, politics is a steak served well done. This leaves religion wide open. So, here I go….

Sometimes-- when there’s too much to do and not enough time, when the paperwork on my desk threatens to topple me, when my students are a little too pushy, when the laundry pile approaches knee height, when my husband is a little too grumpy, and when my children are a little too talkative—I wonder if I mightn’t become a nun.

(I should pause while my sister-in-law, Michelle, chokes on her cabernet as she reads this.)

One of my harried coworkers and I came up with a list of reasons yesterday why being a nun is appealing.

Here’s the draw:

*We look good in black.

*We like to wear hats.

*Nuns have a lot of “quiet time.”

*No need to worry about financial issues.

*Nuns get to meditate.

*According to films involving nuns, we would be able to fight crime. (I don’t know why nuns fight crime when people in the law enforcement profession seem to have that covered, but you can only watch so many films involving nuns solving mysteries before one starts to wonder if there isn’t something to that.)

*Lots of reading time.

*International travel to Rome every once in a while.

*We are pretty sure that there would be a lot of freebies. There’s a good chance the baristas at Starbucks might just comp us our tall mochas.


The thing is, I couldn’t be part of those convents that take a vow of silence. I mean, I could maybe pull that off for a day or two, but I know I’d start whispering things about organizing a writing club, or arranging for facials and make-overs. The real kicker, however, is that I can’t sing. Every film I have ever seen involving one of those crime-stopping, mystery-solving women of the cloth has the nuns singing. The fact that I can’t sing, not to mention my inability to keep silent for longer than four minutes and my happily married state, are probably deal breakers for joining a convent.

But I might just rent the costume for my next trip to Starbucks.