Two dark-years have passed since these not-quite-ecclesiastic fingers have touched a proverbial pen. I can only imagine the imaginings of my dear penless Readrrr during this long, cruel period of pen-separation and literacy deprivation, but, nunderstand, gentle Readrrr, that things at Anathema Abbey got out of hand very quickly. My nuntimely arrival on the grounds…
It’s that time of year, the most nunderful time of year, and I haven’t had a moment to sneak into my spy library until now because, to put it quite Frank(Sinatra)ly, I am up to my neck in nuns and Bing cherries. Indeed, you read that right; no need for a double bake. Or take….
Nuns are in the business of preposterous punishments, and so I endeavored to be in the business of preposterous potions. Thus began my wicked life in (or, moved from the basement to) the kitchen. I can’t say I’ve performed any miracles, at least not yet, but I do take pride in my work as the Wicked Witch of the Eat and, grandest of all, Sister Danita’s meatloaf went, where it always belonged, to the dogs.
Dear Reader, do take pity on me; if you were presented with Sister Danita’s meatloaf, you would turn into a wicked witch, too!