In the words of the late John Lennon, nobody told me there’d be days like these. Strange days indeed. Most peculiar, mama. Whoa.

Today was a strange day. Then again, they’ve all been strange days lately.

Today I cussed out a rose bush. But after a good minute-long tirade, it still hadn’t seemed to have gotten the message. It was still giving me sass. So I threatened it with karate. “Do you want karate?” I demanded. More sass. So I attempted karate upon the rose bush, whereupon I fell immediately on my ass. Hard. That’s when I saw the priest, just standing there, watching me.

I live across the street from the rectory of a church, so I see this guy and his comings and goings, and given what I’ve seen, there are a lot more comings than goings, if you know what I mean. It gets to be a bit Eyes Wide Shut on some nights over there in the rectory, only without any females. I swear I’ve seen a disco ball turning in there as I’ve been walking out to my car. He sunbathes in the nude in the church parking lot, usually accompanied by Octovio, the stonemason, who has been doing some sort of unseen work around the property for a year and a half now. My point is that this guy is no position to judge me and my relationship with this rose bush.

So he just stared at me for a few seconds as I laid there with a broken ass (it was only sprained…that was what the doctor said at urgent care, “Son, you got a sprained ass,”), and then I showed him my favorite finger. He then showed me his favorite finger, and oddly enough, we seem to each have the same favorite finger. He is a rather crude priest. Probably a Jesuit.