I just come out of confession, but I still feel the heavy burden of sin weighing me down. I have unloaded as much sins as I could remember- such sins as ogling the delectable Titilayo; such sin as having sexual designs on Linda Ikeji, and some other horrible deeds too sinful to mention here- and the Father, in his mercy, had forgiven them all. I had taken some extra time during my confession, racking my brains, trying get around the cobwebs inside my head, to remember other non-kosher indulgences. Smoking weed? well, the Magnanimous Reverend Father wouldn’t know what to do about that. The Holy Book is silent on dope, and the priests look the other way when cannabis is mentioned in confession.
A gorgeous red lipstick lady walked in the confessional as I walked out. Observing her, I wonder what load of sin she bears. I feel merciful towards her. I wish I was a priest, I could have relieved her of the heavy load she bear. Well, I got me a penance of 10 Hail Marys to do for the remission of the sins I just confessed. But there is something I have forgotten to mention during my session with the confessor.
I am sitting here now on the front pew, in the quiet church. The Statue of the Virgin Mary staring straight at me, knowingly, the beginning of a sensuous smile playing around her lips. The bleeding life size Jesus hanging from a huge cross, is glaring at me as if I was Pontius Pilate- He was supposed to be dead or unconscious, but he looks fit enough to rip my sinful neck from my shoulders. There too is Saint Joseph, husband of Mary, beside her, disapprovingly scowling at me. I am glad that he is only a statue and can’t do shit. “Shit” that reminds me of the forgotten sin. It has to do with (poop). Now I want another session at the confession- it is free afteral. One of the benefits of being a Christian is all your offenses (except sins against The Spiritus Sanctus) are forgiven free of charge. Sometimes playing back the tape of your sinful indulgence is not kosher you know. It is quite a chore to be objective about them too.
So here we are: me sitting my arse on the hard bench, waiting another turn in the confessional, Miss Red Lip seems to be taking forever in there, I wonder if they- she and the father- have both slept off in the confessional. I am all alone with these spooky cold staring statues: the glaring Jesus- the son; his virgin Mother; and Saint Joseph The Father. I wish they would talk to me now. The church is quite enough to hear their still small voices. I can’t remember if I flushed after using the WC yesterday at Titilayo’s office. This unconfessed sin is really nagging at me. I can’t remember if I actually committed that grievous offense sin.
I met with Titilayo yesterday- yes, I did, it was in the open; I shook her hand- yes I did but the handshake didn’t go beyond the elbow; I ogled her cleavages- no I didn’t. She had a pretty string of beads around her neck. Wasn’t she wearing a turtleneck? It was nice meeting her again. Titilayo has the this magnetic aura that envelopes you quickly; and that Angelic face that matches her caressing voice cannot be missed. Just before that meeting I had had the need to go. I asked and the receptionist showed me to the cleanest, best scented, most adequately equipped, and functional Men’s Room I have ever seen in a corporate establishment based in Lagos. The porcelain of the WC was so clean you could eat your dinner in it. It was really cozy with a collection of Magazine to flip through, and music from the speaker streaming in, the sound bouncing off the pure white ceramic tiled wall. I could have stayed in there from 9am to 5pm without being fatigued. No mosquito even bothered me while in there. My poop was almost brimming over by the time I was done. I would still have been there for another hour but my phone had rung unusually loud in that secluded space. It was Titilayo calling to find out if I had left before the recording session. I had hastily wiped my arse. I remember washing my hands because I got back to the lobby with wet dripping hands. But did I flush that toilet brimming with my shit? I can’t seem to remember, and it is a most grievous sin if I hadn’t flushed that toilet.
I have a almost cult like reverent fetish for clean places, person or things. I believe it is a most grievous sin to tarnish clean people- people with clean hands, hearts and conscience; or to desecrate places like that clean and hallowed Men’s Room at Inspiration FM, or a sparkling clean porcelain WC’s, with unflushed poop. It is most likely I had forgotten to flush. there are two things God hates the most: a lying tongue, and an unflushed toilet. I hate these two things too. So I must make a confession for it. But if it so happens that I have flushed the toilet, then this extra Mea Culpa will be a credit I can draw on anytime soon. I wait my turn for a mea culpa.