As I walked to work my steps slowed the closer I got, and an orison left my mouth almost of its own accord – please, please let a spaceship land right now and let aliens whisk me away, anal-probe me if they must, just don’t make me go in to work today. But alas, I entered work, said and did the same things as always, performed the same perfunctory duties as yesterday and the day before, and generally wished to banish everyone I saw from the face of the earth.
You can’t just rattle off a long-winded orison with a perfunctory wink and smile and expect that crazy old Victorian broad to grant you eternal peace and happiness; you must live a life dedicated to tea, tartlets, cookies and scones to be truly received in the Church of Mendl.
“Say your sweet orisons tonight, little broads!” screamed former mother superior, Sister Ursula, ripping off her habit and tossing it in the air like a graduation cap. “Y’all ain’t ruining my morality classes with your perfunctory saint memorizing and gauche shenanigans!”