G. called me up tonight and told me that her baby, F., is going to be baptized in a ceremony here in March. (Never mind how I feel about this. I was not consulted and will not voice my opinion the way I did when my dear godchild A. in New York got circumcised. He is 17 and I just told him a few weeks ago that that I fought the good fight for his foreskin. He laughed.) She told me that she and C., (the baby’s dad) want me to be the madrina, but the priest who is performing the baptism informed her that in order to do that I have to provide an idoneita’, which I don’t really know what it is, but is apparently the evidence of my own Catholicness, and, given that I don’t have an idoneita’, I will not be able to become the madrina.
“So I have to get one!” I said.
G. said, “But you are not Catholic, my dear!”
I said, “That much we know, carissima, let’s move on to the question of how I am going to get the idoneita’.”
“But it’s not possible.”
“I need a bad priest, like the bad rabbi who gave my aunt and uncle a Jewish wedding certificate, a ketubah, when they got married in Paris during the war, so that my grandparents wouldn’t disown her for marrying a Catholic.”
This was the big stink that erupted in my family recently when my uncle (the French fake Jew) died and my father was in a hurry to get him buried or cremated in order to dispose of his cazzo, the last trace of evidence, because my other uncle — the orthodox jewish one — was getting orthodox jews with connections in the morgue to sneak around and take a look at my uncle’s penis which was, in fact, uncircumcised. It was a big relief for our wing of the family (the bad wing) when he got cremated.
I said to G., “I got the Austrian passport, I can get an idoneita’. And maybe my Austrian passport is good enough evidence that I am a Catholic, since all Austrians are Catholic now that they killed off all the Jewish ones!”
I told all this to S., who said, “Are you serious? She’s baptizing the baby? Is she doing it for her family? I would have done it for my family if I weren’t such a rompipalle.”
“I’m glad you are,” I said.
“But Karen, becoming the madrina means you have to promise to bring the child up in the Church if anything happens to the parents.”
I said, “Don’t worry! I will promise anything they like!”
((So I need a real bad real catholic priest who can help me! Do you know one?))
Qualcuno può aiutare?