I knew from the very first time I set eyes on Brother Ethernan that he would be the kind of monk who would trod on the back of someone else’s sandal, causing him to trip and drop heavy platters or even sacramental vessels and go flying.
Clumsy, stupid, and cheerful, Brother Ethernan is the incarnation of everything I despise in humankind. Call me a misanthrope, but so is God. And if Brother Ethernan trods on the back of my sandal during procession one more time, or knocks over my goblet of wine, or pokes me in the belly or the eye with the long-handled loaf flipper, or accidentally wipes his ass with my tassle in the little monks’ room, I swear I am going to jump him behind the rectory after Vespers and teach him a lesson none of Christ’s apostles would call short on brimstone.
Fucking cheese-eating Brother Ethernan really gets my goat. He had better not even look at me during collation, or I might just come at him over the table.
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