Nuns and Pancakes
Bus tales
Two young nuns sat next to me on the bus on my morning commute. They wore tourist face and looked extra lost. I asked if they needed help.
They were trying to find good American pancakes.

The short nun wanted to see if they really were as big as plates in the states, or if everyone had been messing with her. When I wouldn’t tell her, joking that she’d have to try them herself, the tall one busted up laughing. I looked at her confused.
Apparently I’d hit a nerve; the butt of a weeks long inside joke. The tall one leaned over and whispered “pancakes” in her companion’s ear. The short nun lost her cool.
I was trying hard to suppress laughter. Shoving the feeling down wasn’t working; I had to look away. My mind was racing, “don’t laugh at nuns, don’t laugh at nuns, don’t laugh at nuns…” My eyes met those of other passengers. We’d been fairly quiet, the nuns and I. Spectators lacked context. They only saw her reaction. The energy on the bus had changed and I was just catching up.
An angry nun makes people palpably uncomfortable; and for a moment, I fell in love with the power a black dress and veil holds.