Sunday School Teacher

After my sojourn around the rock and roll circuit I unconsciously made an effort to settle down. More by luck than design I found myself in the company of the exact opposite of the type of woman I probably needed. At the age of twenty one though I’m not sure I ever knew what I needed in a woman or indeed anything else.

From where I was coming marriage to a Sunday School teacher seemed a safe bet.
I was therefore married. A certificate proved it. Certified I should have been.

As if to embed my new life further her mother was resident organist in the ‘church of Christ the knows what’. Where once stood 80 decibel cocaine fuelled hysteria evening entertainment now consisted of ‘the old rugged cross’ lemonade and home made rhubarb crumble. No longer either the nightly hedonistic lustful rampages, instead was prayer and sensibility. I have no idea what anyone else asks of our redeemer but for my part I prayed to get beyond the top two buttons of my new wife’s cardigan. Boy how I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. To the uninitiated, as I was quickly finding out, sex was no longer for enjoyment but procreation. Procreation was a twice yearly affair in accordance with tradition. Christmas and Easter. Not ever birthdays. This was a spiritual plane I had never previously considered.

Along with my first attempt at blissful co-existence I made efforts towards a proper job. As a budding Charles Rennie McIntosh I decided I would shake up the architectural world. I had no idea that there were some rudimentary skills needed to be learned. This truly was an alien concept. Drawing, scale rules and philosophical debate pulled me into a hitherto world unknown. When the boss spoke I learned to nod. With ardent fervour I produced unusable rubbish of epic proportions and was found out.

As if to cement my stones further into the great wall that is life I attained another certificate and was divorced.

Hallelujah, praise the Lord.

Here endeth the lesson.