Old habits die hard in this tale about a nun who isn’t.
Another Cheesy Short Comedy
By David R. Ford
Frank couldn’t believe it. In the last ten minutes, he’d broken into a building, found out it was a convent, and knocked out a nun with the solid gold crucifix he’d tried to steal. Then as he attempted to escape in a habit he found, a bloke from a TV crew informed him that the Mother Superior was due to give an interview about a miracle so they’d better hurry to the set. He’d had quieter mornings. Now, he stood, watching an orange man dance over, wearing a suit so sharp it’d cut your throat.
“Ah, sister. The names Jeremy Arshull. Yep, THE Jeremy Arshull. I know you nuns swore off men but I bet there’s not been this much temptation since Jesus went walking in the desert!” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure my girls will be fine,” in a voice that was insulting to both women and the Irish.
“It’s never too late to start,” he said, never wavering. “Now, unfortunately for you, there isn’t enough time to get to know me better. Just take a seat and we’ll start,”
“Oh, yeah, that’s the thing. I…”
“Don’t worry sister, I’m a pro, I’ll make this place look like the Vatican,”
“But you don’t…”
“Trust me, when people see me talking to you, you’ll have a million new Catholic’s by the morning,”
“Enough from you, chatterbox. Sit. We must start!” and off he marched to his seat.
Frank couldn’t turn back now. He walked and sat in his chair where a woman with a clip microphone was waiting.
“Are you ready sister?” she said, attaching it.
“Ready as I’ll ever fecking be,” he replied, shocking her. “Oh, calm down, my child, I didn’t say d’other one. I’ll say a rosary to make up for it,” he continued, making the sign of the cross.
“Ok, well, should I take this?” she said, going for the crucifix.
“No!” Frank shouted in a voice too deep for a nun. “I mean, you never know what kind of dishonest people are lurking around, dear,” he said, smiling. The mic girl rolled with it, after all, who’d be weird enough to pretend to be Mother Superior? The director started rolling.
“Hello! Did you miss me? Jeremy Arshull, here, bringing another outstanding report,” he beamed, “Now, the Mother Superior of this convent, sister Bernadette, is going to explain how one of her children in Christ, Sister Eunice, performed a miracle in this very room. You’ve heard of water into wine, now, how did cheese become milk?”
Frank just stared, amazed at what was just said. “Excuse me?”
“The miracle, sister,”
“Oh, God yes, I mean, oh of course, the miracle. I must admit, when I was told there was a miracle, I thought she’d healed a blind man, not taken power over dairy,”
“So, she has power over all dairy?”
“No, no, dat’s not what I’m saying,”
“Are you saying there was no miracle?”
“Well, I mean it is a ridiculous sounding ting. She could have just swapped d’bowls or sometink,”
“Could that be possible?”
“You’d be amazed at what you can hide under these habits, Jeremy,” Frank said, crossing his legs.
“So you’re saying there’s no such thing as miracles?”
“So you’re a liar either way?!”
“Something smells off about this, sister, and it’s not the curdled milk! What are you not telling us?! Is there a secret?!” Jeremy said, rising from his chair.
“There’s no secret! There’s nothing to know!” Frank squared up.
“Nothing? You heard it here first, folks. There is no God,”
“Now wait, just cos I can’t prove d’cheese thing, doesn’t mean you can disprove an entire religion,”
“Well, sister, I just did. I can feel cheese, I can’t feel God,” he said, turning away in disgust.
“D’ya believe in blunt objects?”
“What?” Jeremy said as Frank smack him across the back of the head with the the crucifix. The whole room gasped.
“I tink he felt dat,” he said, stepping again over someone he knocked out.
“Why’d you do that sister?” The director asked.
“A mother protects her children,” Frank said in his gruff voice as he placed the crucifix down and left without another word.