No question, when my friend Ruth and I get together, we're theologically very naughty. Not only has she been making faces at me from the choir, so that I giggle in inappropriate places (it was her fault during your sermon, Simon, I swear!), but most priests would also have nightmares about answering questions that arise from our conversations.
Por ejemplo: today, we were at Tenebrae, the morning office for the Triduum. One of the responsories was "Lament like a virgin" (that also came up on Radio 3 whilst we were fighting our way out of Sainsbury's). I turned to Ruth and asked:
"Lament like a virgin - what does that mean? Are they lamenting *because* they are virgins?"
"Probably. You know, you could ask one of the good Catholic boys that and then say, 'Can I help you with that?'"
"Great pickup line."
This conversation happened as we were pushing a trolley around Sainsbury's. Later, in the checkout line, the people around us overheard the following:
Me: Who gets Jesus? (she has the qewlest, tackiest Jesus/Mary shopping bag)
Ruth: *I* get Jesus.
Me: But *I* WANT Jesus.
Ruth: Jesus is mine. I get to have Jesus.
Me: Fine. I didn't want him anyway. Jesus can go to hell.
Ruth, not missing a beat: Well, in fact, he did.