Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Colder Than a...
“It's colder than a witch's tit out there,” said the new arrival, closing the door.
If somebody else had said it, it would have been offensive.
In a roomful of witches—most of us already naked for the evening's ritual—it's high-context in-group humor instead.
The high priestess tucks her hand under her breast and looks thoughtful.
“Yep,” she says.
For MG
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