We were a normal Irish family, my father was a Pagan but my mother was a very devout Christian woman and we would spend many days reading the Bible and having religious discussions and when i turned 14 i consecrated myself to Our Lord and took a vow of chastity, vowing never to let a man touch me which made my mother very happy but shortly afterwards she died due to gremlins or evi spirits (we weren't too savvy about what caused death back then) and things took a very dramatic and awkward turn.
My father, somewhat of a leader in the local community, was pressed to remarry but he vowed to only marry someone as beautiful as his deceased wife and he looked and looked and looked but after searching fruitlessly, he came home one day and said that i was the spitting image of his dead wife, my mum, but the warning bells didn't go of until he began flirting with me and pinching my backside and announced that he would like to marry me.
I resisted, for the obvious reason that this was my freaking dad so i decided to deal with it by asking myself what would Jesus do in this situation and decided that he would have obviously got the hell out of there as if his arse was on fire which is what i did, fleeing to Belgium with a priest to put as much distance between my backside and his wandering hands.
In Belgium we began helping the poor and built a hospital for the sick but news of our good endeavours spread to my father who came to find me and turned up with a sword and an ultimatum that i return to Ireland to be his bride or he will chop off my head.
I tried once more with the 'No because i'm already married to God' line and i shook my head, he shook his sword and my head shook the basket it landed in and i don't know if he ever got remarried but i went on to become the Patron Saint of runaways and incest victims and my shrine is situated in Ohio where you can only hope they have a lot of runaways and not because it is the capital of some very awkward family breakfast tables.
No comments:
Post a Comment