For more than a week now, Reverend Clockslip and I have been on-again off-again bedfellows due to the ever unfolding drama of his estrangement with Mrs. Clockslip. Petunia Clockslip is a woman of strict doctrinal rigor, her orthodoxy defended with the ardor of a blushing maid.
My friend the Reverend, who I shall call Henry, encountered this paragon of theological certitude while they were both attending a Bible college in Grand Rapids. One day in class discussion, upon the suggestion that God’s sovereign care over the universe might take a form other than that described in the Hiedelburg Catechism, they rose in unison to cow the heretical miscreant. Their eyes met and between them flashed an understanding. After that, through many late night conferences on the nature and timing of Christ’s millennial reign, they became romantically attached.
Now, after a quarter century of marriage and almost a half century of age behind him, Henry Clockslip’s former passion for ramrod straight theological discipline and razor sharp theological distinctions has begun to wane. Petunia, on the other hand, has moved not an inch from any one of her pet convictions. Thus we find ourselves in the present position.
The Reverend is at my house for a seemingly indefinite period. He cannot go anywhere else, for he does not know anyone else outside of his congregation, and the Clockslips are keeping their pseudo-separation a secret from the members of the church. So here we sit. However, I do not think that the present state of affairs will last for long. Clockslip seems to be concocting a plan to win his orthodox bride back. We shall see what develops.
Meta-Life 
