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.
Two Stories in Collision
I
Craig's mom was up from Texas to see the new house. She'd heard about the pagan guy that lived with her son, but you could tell that, being a good Episcopalian woman, she was working hard to reserve judgment.
One afternoon, while I was off at work, the doorbell rings. Naturally, she says: "I'll get it."
She opens the door. The man standing there is holding the dripping, severed head of a deer.
"Hi," he says, "Is Steve at home?"
II
A few weeks previously, I had mentioned to a friend of mine that I was looking for a deer skull.
"Oh, I can get you one, if you don't mind dealing with the whole head," he said. Turns out that he lived near a butcher who processed venison for hunters. "They usually just throw them away."
III
Craig's mom comes back into the kitchen looking, he said, a little pale, but not missing a beat.
"I think you'd better take this one," she says.
Comments
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Thursday, 29 January 2015
Oh, we all had a good laugh and lively amicably ever after.
So far, anyway. -
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Bwahahahaha. Are you going to tell us the Rest of the Story?