Inventory: Sentences about a Mother Superior — heretofore probably nonexistent
”Buttocks,” the Mother Superior hissed, “Buttocks wins again.”
The Mother Superior handled the radish apprehensively, as its shape was far too close to that of the Shogun’s crest.
The Mother Superior nervously made her introductions then waded through the mud bath, scanning for the lost chalice.
The Mother Superior shrugged at the waitress, then sheepishly gestured to the coupon stapled to the mink collar of her caftan.
Somewhere over Pitcairn Island, the Mother Superior dropped her contact lens into the blancmange.
With the unfamiliar feel of burlap over her lower lip, the Mother Superior couldn’t sleep, even as the nurse primed a new IV bag.
So the conversation ping-ponged through the night, the Mother Superior insisting that Father Bongo make the concession of flattening the hides, even as the priest made a pup-tent with the bear skin as if to mock the older woman.
During the relatively smooth ride between the subway stations, Renaldo set the Mother Superior’s beard in curlers.
Watching the teargas canisters dropped into the center of the gallery, the Mother Superior flicked the curtain tassels nervously.
The fried eggs burnt and uneatable, the Mother Superior wept openly.
The Mother Superior stared at the ceiling, avoiding looking at Jaime, still in the pantyhose from the night previous.
The Mother Superior kept spreading the talc over the surface of the hubcap, the stump of her thumb leaving a crimson track.
Earlier that afternoon, the Mother Superior advised the gamekeepers to stay indoors, because there was something about this vole that made it different, dangerous, and possibly demon-driven.
Butterscotch pudding wasn’t something the Mother Superior had much experience with, but she knew the bus passengers had been told to expect something wonderful.