sex and religion

Coffee with the Perfect Fit in the Costa Cafe on Dawson Street.

Around us the room cacaphones with life.

The Perfect Fit fixes me with a Spanish stare.

"James," she says seriously, "you are not to mention God today."

The noble Heelers is mildly taken aback.

"You're the second person who said that to me this week," I tell her.

The Perfect Fit is keen to know who the other was.

"It was Sexy Miss Russia," I explain.

The Perfect Fit expresses approval for Sexy Miss Russia's censorious conversational superludities.

I feel further elaboration on the Heelers position is necessary.

"Listen," I say. "When I talk to you about God and when I talk to Sexy Miss Russia about God, that's two completely different things."

"Why?" demands the Spanish lady.

My handsome preraphaelite features break into a cheesy grin.

"Because when I talk to you about God I'm really trying to convert you," expostulates me. "But when I talk to Sexy Miss Russia about God, it's just because I'm scared of her."