So here we are.
Please, dear reader(s), I beg you not to worry. I’m serious. I know that you’re all concerned about what could happen to me in the coming weeks, but I want to put your minds at ease:
I am probably not going to be named Pope.
No, really. It’s not going to happen. And I’m not just saying this with false humility, or in that I’m-just-saying-this-now-so-I-can-seem-genuinely-surprised-when-it-happens sort of way so my acceptance speech seems more heartfelt. I really mean it. It’s just not in the cards this time around.
It’s fine. I mean it.
Look, you have to understand. These things are really political. It’s all about who you know, you know? You have to know the right guys with the right hats. I’m not good at that sort of thing. All those cardinals look alike to me. I wouldn’t even know which one to wink at.
And it’s hard to even get seen to be the Pope. They tend to call in all the big names first, because, you know, it’s way better if you have a well-known Pope. And seeing as how I’m still waiting to hear from my agent, I’m guessing that the window is probably closed on that. The Papal Conclave is only in town for a few days, and I think they’re only having one day of callbacks.
So really, people, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.
I mean, I don’t even know Latin. I think you need to know Latin. So there you go. Not gonna happen.
And even if I was named Pope, which I’m not saying would even happen... but if I was -- and really, I know it’s a long shot -- it doesn’t mean that things would change all that much in our writer-reader relationship. I think there’s probably Internet access at the Vatican. I’m pretty sure I’d still be allowed to blog. Granted, I might have to start writing posts that are a little more Pope-centric, stuff about robes and rings and Jesus... aaaagh!! I don’t even know why I’m talking about this! I’m getting into my own head again! STUPID!
Just forget I said anything, okay? I don’t even like balconies.
It’s all for the best, really. Being around all that incense day in and day out can’t be good for your lungs. Plus, I could never pull off that hat. Seriously, I couldn’t. Some people can, but not me. If I tried on that hat, I wouldn’t look like the Pope... I’d just look like an idiot wearing a Pope hat.
That’s what it comes down to, really. My face just isn’t Pope-y enough. In fact, nothing about me screams “Pope.” I mean, when I walk down the street in a long ivory dress, it’s not as if people point at me and say, hey, doesn’t she look like she could be the Pope? That has never happened, not even once.
So, you know, just let it go. It’s fine. They probably don’t want a married Pope, anyway.
Besides, someone just told me that they only hire from within.
You know what? Their loss, man. Their loss.
Yes indeed. Welcome to me.