Antonia and Ian and Nick and me

“Oscar gets so red and loud when he’s angry.”

“Maybe Oscar is the Antichrist.”

“Oscar can’t be the Antichrist. He smells too good.”

“He doesn’t always smell good.”

“Besides, wouldn’t the Antichrist smell really good? All freshly showered and starched shirts, cologne and minty breath, just to throw you off?”

“Wouldn’t Jesus be the one who smelled amazing?”

“No way. I bet Jesus smelled awful. Like hippies and feet.”

“Why else do you think everyone was always washing his feet?”

“Hoo, the Lord is great and everything, but have you smelled his feet?”

“I know, we had him over the other night and it’s great what he does with the wine but oh my god, his feet.”

“We didn’t want to embarrass him so we acted like we have a big deal about feet washing in this house.”

“We were like, Mary Magdalene, get into it, use your hair, act like it’s a thing. I think he bought it.”

“And has he ever stayed over at your house? The stains on the sheets afterwards! It’s uncanny.”