Father Eugene is what the Irish would call "altogether handsome," He cuts a fine figure in his clerical black. I'm not in the running for handsome, but even we Protestants put on blacks and a collar for high occasions and holy days.
So it was that I was in the right turn lane on Nicholson Avenue after taking a funeral. Wearing the black, and probably in a grey mood. Waiting for the lights to change, I heard the short toot of a horn. I looked to my left. A car driven by a woman I didn't know. But then, right over in the left lane, the ever handsome Father Eugene. He was leaning forward, looking around her, as it were, and giving me a mock-pious Queen Elizabeth the Second wave.
I leaned forward, and in my most gracious ecclesiastical manner, returned the wave... cultured clergy to the core. The woman, sure a priest would not be waving to her, looked away from Eugene... to see me! Puzzlement, suspicion, and disbelief washed over her face. The lights changed, and she shot away from the lights with a screech. Eugene nodded gravely to me, with the slightest of smiles, and with the grace of the bishop he would one day be, quietly motored off.
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