Smells like what?
Two dummies on a walk: a highly embellished, but still kind of true, story.
Having recently returned from a visit to England where I nurtured my budding Anglicanism, I was in no mood to accommodate the perfidy of Rome. So while on a brisk walk with an old friend we were discussing the Houston heat, church, and scripture, some matter or other struck me as Papist (I should say here, I love my Catholic brothers and sisters and I am only teasing to get a laugh, so please no Inquisitors at my door).
Says I to my Baptist friend regarding the matter, “Smells like Popery!”
He slows his gait, “I don’t smell potpourri”
“Well I do. It makes me suspicious.”
“It does? That’s weird.”
“Why is that weird? A lot of people feel that way.”
“Usually potpourri calms people down.”
“Well, maybe devout Catholics, but not me.”
“Well I like it.”
“What! You are a Baptist for goodness sake?”
He stops and looks at me, eyebrow raised.
“What does my Baptist belief have to do with enjoying potpourri?”
“I don’t know, but perhaps you should be a Catholic.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“POPERY!”
“So am I! POTPOURRI!”
“So what do you like about it?”
“The smell, of course.”
“What is Popery supposed to smell like?”
“Cinnamon or cloves and…”
We stood there for a moment, slack jaws, like two Baptist brothers who just figured out that the funny smell coming from the woods was grandpa’s not-so-secret liquor still.
“Ohhhhh… so you were thinking…”
“Yes. Yes, I was. And you were…”
“I was.”
“Let’s not talk about this.”
FAT CHANCE BRO!