The Rector

Credit image: http://cloeti.canalblog.com

Once upon a time, my mother warned me we would have guests for supper, and that I would exceptionally have the permission to partake in the meal. She felt it necessary to add that I best be polite because the Rector was included in the lot. Rather stupidly I admit, I made an etymological association between rector and rectum, and I concluded he must necessarily be an arse. I didn't say anything to my mother so as not to grieve her, as I thought interiorly: "if we start having washouts as guests, and further if I have permission to carve up a bite with them, we are not out of the woods yet."

A stack of people showed up at around eight, and I focused on the washout in question. He didn't really look more like a washout than the rest of the guests, but I had him in my scope, and also his wife for that matter, who wasn't too unpleasant looking after all, let's be honest with some hindsight. As I didn't have permission to engage in conversation, I kept my mouth shut at the table. Towards the end of the supper, the bloke, thinking he was doing well in breaking the adult ice, loomed towards me and asked: "And you youngster, what do you want to be when you grow up???"

My, that was unexpected!! I jumped on the occasion I was waiting for since the commencement... I was planning on being a musician, which is what I did later on, and I answered that, but with the following undertones: "I won't be a rectum, pal!". Now, I felt that the bloke did not appreciate the answer, especially the tone that I had spiced it up with, and the other guests were silently awaiting a pedagogical commentary such as "that's not a job!". Lo and behold, the rector full-fledged played into my hand: "That's not a job, young man! Where is that going to lead you... musician?". As I had anticipated his answer, I retorted: "to the cemetery, just like you, but normally and given your age, a little later than you".

What a feast! Dead silence, half of the guests who couldn't stand the rector in the outside world were tittering in their desert. Without more ado, my mother offered him another helping. At the time she always made orange salad and chocolate mousse for the guests, for sake of simplicity. She addressed him with her customary demeanour: "I would be really pleased if you would help yourself to some more, if you are tempted".

Well the bloke's face had turned a color exactly like the orange salad on the table. Even as I was licking my plate, I observed him from the corner of my eye. This is when my father stepped in: "Maybe you will say goodnight like a good boy and go to bed?" Whereupon I said: "Not so fast, I will help myself to some more chocolate mousse, as soon as the rectum has had seconds!"

Since that day, I assure you, I work my etymology!! This is something Georgina never understood! It is useless she would say, like metaphysics, just the same. Jeez.