Something of a Cold Customer

by Regis Boff

Happiness comes to those who wait. The religious prigs and prudes of divinity devoted centuries to winning the allegiance of uneducated, toothless and starving populations using this expression. The poor should postpone their bit of happiness until they die because they have no value on earth. Men of the spirit gave them what was theirs as charity. Show me charity and I look for pride and vanity.
Civilisation does it’s best to handicap the prerogative of forgiveness​ when it comes to imperfection. Even when our sins are silly, still, nobody wants to be lumped in with a neighbour who also masturbates forty-two times a day or pees in the shower or pool.
I grew up among Catholics and always envied them. They had the confession. Methodists, like me, were consigned to hell instantly on ridiculously minor offences. It just occurred to me that we are the black people of sin. We never peed in pools or showers, while my Catholic friends would hold it until they hit the water. They had an out. I did not.
This made me something of a cold customer.
I know women living lives of absolute saints yet they are scarred and rendered timid by self-reproach over something they did as a child. Women are by far the most certainly moral of the several genders it appears we now have.
Men sin with such rhythm​ and with a brute magnitude that nothing matters much to us after a while. Wars and indifference to each other somehow have less consequence. We are certain Hell awaits us. We can forgive ourselves and that makes us very dangerous.