Bad Habit
It’s always good to know how other people see you. I got a quick peek a few years ago, when on a first date, my suitor paused mid-sentence and blurted out, like he finally remembered where he knew me from.
“You’ve probably heard this a million times but…has anyone told you how much you look like a nun in her civvies?”
A nun in her civvies. That is, a cloistered woman, devoid of any sexuality, who has very much given up on the modern world and - this is the key point here - is now dressed in her weekend casuals.
I was on a date. I had made an effort. This was me at my most razzle dazzle and I was giving off voluntarily celibate vibes? Even real nuns don’t want to be told they look like nuns. Even they must think, “really? but I’m the cool one? I don’t even have a favourite Pope!”
The worst thing is this wasn’t even the first time someone had said that to me. That time was worse, it was by another nun. I felt a chill through my spine because nuns know. It was like she saw something I couldn’t admit to yet.
Don’t get me wrong, there are benefits to looking like a nun; black and white privilege if you will. I can walk into any church I like and just plug my phone in, no questions asked.
Me on a first date.
I know a lot about nuns.
Do you know nuns have their own special type of bras? I went to a convent and you’d see them flapping in the wind on the line like sad flags. They’re special bras to bind their boobs in and I used to think, in my innocence, it was to stop them distracting priests at mass. Which makes no sense - as if priests would get distracted by boobs?
Do you know nuns are called Brides of Christ? The idea is that they have traded in romance in this life because they will be married to Jesus in the next. You know who I feel sorry for in all this? Jesus. Where’s his consent in all this? Does he have any say?
He’s god’s son, he’s in paradise, think of the beautiful women! Marilyn Monroe wandering around in a toga, Elizabeth Taylor getting drunk on a cloud. He can’t go near any of them, even though his Dad runs the place, because waiting for him at home is the entire cast of Calendar Girls. Jesus’s house in heaven must be like the Playboy mansion, if your Mam was in charge of who got in. Every time a nun dies, Jesus is hoping - please please let it be a slutty one or a South American. It never is. He opens the door and it’s always Fidelma from Leitrim with her guitar, arms stretched open “Howaya Jesus! Make it worth my while - I gave up my life for this!”
My heart breaks for both of them. On their wedding night they go through the motions. Get into bed, turn out the light, have sex for the first time and afterwards you know they all say the same thing, “I’m so sorry Jesus, how do I say this to you...I am a lesbian.”
That’s going to get to you after a while, that’s going to keep you humble, son of god or no son of god. He’d sigh and grab his half-read copy of the new Sally Rooney book on his bedside table “it’s fine - all my wives are. They’re in the next room starting an Orange is The New Black marathon - go on ahead.”
My date was English. I didn’t know whether saying I looked like a nun was a weird compliment or an odd insult. There are different types of nuns, we’re not all the same!
There are Call The Midwife nuns. Maybe I reminded him of the golden age of the NHS? Socialised healthcare free at the point of access? I guess I do have that vibe. He could imagine me fresh-faced cycling over cobbles in London’s East End saying things like “Love, in many ways, is god's penicillin.”
Or maybe a hot nun, one who skips through the village fair while townspeople whisper, “she’s not long for the convent. She’s never going to take her final orders!”
I do look great in a wimple; like Maria in the Sound of Music. A film I love but does for being a nun what Pretty Women did for the sex industry: makes it look a lot more fun than it probably is.
Fashion goals.
That must be it, I thought. So I said “Have you seen The Sound of Music??”
He hadn’t seen it, so I GOT TO EXPLAIN IT TO HIM. What man doesn’t like things explained to him on a first date?
“Imagine, 1930s Austria!’ I say, flinging my arms out setting the scene, “there’s a mountain!”
“We meet Maria, a lovely girl but…” I sigh, shaking my head, as if remembering an old school friend, “She knocks buckets over, runs, whistles - your classic handful! She’s late for things all the time...Can you imagine? She cannot be tamed! She gets sent to work for the Von Trapps to calm her down a bit, slow her roll. She’s warned that the kids are a nightmare, they can’t keep staff. Put a pin in that.”
It was around then, a waiter arrived to take our food order but I continued, just pointing to the food I wanted on the menu.
“She arrives, the kids are beautiful, they sing in harmony immediately, they answer to whistles. Meanwhile their Dad is giving Maria the glad eye the minute she walks through the door. I think we know why no governess lasts. It’s nothing to do with those poor motherless children, it’s old Captain Von SexPest. It's your classic case of - he’s shagged their poor mother to death and now he’s moving onto the staff. Can you believe it?”
HE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.
“So she has to leave. She goes back to the convent and says, ‘Mother Superior, I’ve lost my job because my boss wants to bone me.’ And we’re supposed to believe a Catholic nun in 1930s Austria responds to this news by saying, ‘you need to follow your dreams!’. Follow your dreams? Have you ever heard anything less Catholic in your whole life?”
HE HADN’T.
“Follow your dreams? Catholics don’t have dreams. We have nightmares that we tell children to stop them from masturbating. We’re supposed to believe that a Mother Superior would sing to a gal who wants to sleep with her boss ‘Climb Every Mountain!’?? The only way that would be realistic is if she ended it with …’then throw yourself off it. You dirty whore.’”
The food arrived around now, so mid spaghetti loops I continued.
“And then she gets together with him and HAND TO GOD barely speaks for the rest of the film. No dialogue. Her brain is gone. The Nazis are invading, and she’s still blissed out. She’s just ‘Kids… listen to your Dad.’ Old Captain SexPest has the woman worn out.”
And my date said, “Oh, is that the film with Julie Andrews? Yeah she’s cute.”
I knew it. It WAS a compliment.
I slipped my hand across the table, clasped his, and coyly smiled.
“Well, you’ve probably heard this a million times but … has anyone told you how much you look like a sleazy boss who’d definitely try it on with the staff?”
And weirdly enough, that was our first and only date. It's fine. I forgive him.
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