I didn’t write this; I wish I could claim it for my own, but because I felt more people should read it, I received permission from ScribeDoll, a writer-friend of mine from the UK to post it here.
I ask a man I’ve just met what he does for a living. “I build boats,” he says, “like Jesus – I mean Noah –” he darts me a concerned look and holds out his hand in a halt sign, “I mean, not that I’m religious.”
The quasi squeamishness in his tone and body language not only implies that being religious is in some way objectionable, politically incorrect, or embarrassing, but also his absolute certainty that I share his view. As though anybody in his or her right mind would.
I’m in a pub with a group of writer friends. Somehow, the conversation turns to religion, and a joke is shared about people who believe in God. “I believe in God,” I say.
Complete silence as they all turn to me with an expression of shock mixed with disbelief. One of them says, “How can a woman as intelligent as…
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