lent

I bet you can't do it, bet you don't know what it's about, says Jack C. with a hint of glee in his eyes. 

For months he has been checking me out, the weird foreign woman from the land of divorce and adultery and sin in general. All his life he has moved in the gentle circles of the likes of him and now that! She won't go to church, she happily lives in sin. And with his only son! 

He is forever testing me during his after dinner debates, playing his pope casettes when he has me stuck in his car and prayers, lots of prayers before and after meals. I am sure he prays for his son's soul at Sunday mass. And maybe also for mine.

But she won't budge. 

And, oh, have we started to enjoy each other's company? 

We have. We like each other a lot. 

But lent? The ashes, the rosaries? No. But 40 days of staying away from gluttony, from wanting and taking just because it's available, I will do that and: thanks, Jack, for the challenge.