This is not a post about my arch-nemeses (pl. nemesis? I dunno) the modest spider. This is about something far far worse.
This is about something that causes some people proper genuine sleepless nights. It brings some people out in a cold sweat. Some say that this thing is so terrible, so awful, that even to speak about it will cause literally lots of kittens to palpitate.
Yet this thing will not harm you. It will not poison your cornflakes or lick the middle out of your Oreos. This thing does not have its own toxin, yet has an antidote all of its own. For some hapless people, the very sight of this thing is enough to cause the closing of the chintz curtains, the rolling back of drawbridges.
"But what are you talking about, Big Ears", I hear you cry. What can be so vile, so foul, so despicable, so heinous that fluffy baby-cats pulsate?
Wait for it. Sit down. No - really - sit down.
Sure you are ready?
Really? Last chance ... (I'll whisper, in case you have a poorly ticker)
Black Clerical Shirts
That's right, lovely people. The peril in our presence to which I refer is none less than the black clerical shirt. Believe me when I tell you that there are experienced priest-like people who regard the presence of a black clerical shirt as a symbol of the most grotesque of male subjugation of the laydees and other foul popishness. For some, the Black Shirt of the Thirties is positively Pooh-Bear Jimmy Jams compared to the Chemise Noire that holds a collar for the priestly uses thereof. The antidote to this toxin-free terror? A sky-blue jobbie. Like the sky. Like a 1989 Ford Fiesta, only non-metallic.
I sense that you think little Davy-boy is pulling your leg (though I hope not the gammy one). But no - I am straight-up with this one. A curate-friend of mine reported the deep suspicion that a colleague of theirs has to a cotton garment dyed black. The person now makes it their business to rail against such vile catholic excesses. It is also a person who doesn't think the Eucharist is a worthy expression of worship - but that is another post I think.
In cases like this, I feel inclined to run away to Gretna Green and elope with a website specialising in maniples, gremials, and all things 'tat'. In cases like this, I am not sure whether to laugh or cry at the daft silliness of it all - so in the end I plonk for mild mockery!