A Nun in a Convertible

This
morning I saw a nun in a convertible. Now, THAT was an odd sight! With
a white headdress, like Mother Theresa’s, flapping in the wind of the
bright blue, top-down, convertible. It just sort of struck me as
unexpected and incongruent. It’s not that I thought nuns shouldn’t
drive convertibles; it’s just that I never thought of them tooling
around town in anything quite so fancy. And, it certainly isn’t that I
would deprive a nun of the joy of the bright spring sun and breeze. As
a matter of fact, she probably appreciates it more than the old rich
bald guy with the beret that you generally see driving the convertibles
(big generalization here but I’m going to incur much wrath and just say
I’m suspecting the old rich bald guy is thinking more about how great
he looks driving the convertible than how great God is for making the
day). It just gave me pause to see a nun in a convertible. I just know
there is a poem in this observation, sort of like an artist will see a
statue in a big block of misshapen marble; I just haven’t found it
yet.