Taking Satan home to meet your Mother

My first proper boyfriend was a Satanist. Apparently. I use this term loosely and with a large pinch of salt. He wore long black trench coats over largely black clothes, liked to cut the fingers off his gloves and played a lot of heavy metal and D&D. In the very late 80s, in our fair land, along with owing a My Little Pony or reading ‘The Magic Faraway Tree’, that made you a Satanist.

Of course, this very fact was part of his indelible charm. Another point in his favour was that he did not impress my mother. At all. Especially since at the time, she was going out with a defrocked priest. Yes, I can see you raise your eyebrow. But I swear, it’s true. Mummy was hanging out with one of Jesus’ spin doctors and I was cozying up to one of Satan’s lesser wannabe minions. Lovely.

Mum, being Mum, started off the thrust and parry by taking one look at the cut off gloves and christening Satan boy ‘Mittens’. Which went down like a cup of cold sick. Mittens didn’t like being called Mittens. It messed with his street cred. It clashed with his inner war-lord. It negated all that, like, deep negative, meaningful, like, heavy energy, man. Mittens promptly took to writing me very salacious, if very bad poetry, and leaving it lying around the house. And hissing at the DFP.

Mum, and the DFP tried to be calm and grown-up but eventually retaliated by calling in the exorcists. I kid you not! Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up. But Mittens refused to play ball and remote exorcism proved to be tricky. And even a vast amount of communal prayer wasn’t going to make me give up my lovely dodgy boyfriend. I just kept giggling, wondering what the hell all these perfectly normal people were doing holding candlelit vigils.

But it did get a little out of hand. All of a sudden I couldn’t wear a sniff of slimming black without the trompoppies gasping and backing away, clutching their crucifixes. Even the school CU members got wind of my perilous spiritual predicament and were approaching me during lunch breaks to invite me to prayer meetings and evangelical baptisms.

I politely declined, engaging in some lite debate which caused one or two of the less brainwashed ones to lose their rock solid faith. Which I still feel faintly guilty about. Faith, if you can get it, is rather nice to have.

Anyway, in the midst of all this drama, Mittens himself was getting very, very boring. All that angst. All that anger. All that ‘I’m so deep and meaningful, please take your bra off’. So when Mum finally forbade me to see him, I spent an obligatory month or two sneaking around behind her back before I inevitably said ‘thanks, but bugger off.’

Of course, now, thinking about Mittens brings one part cringe with one part ‘ah, bless’. I admit, I still think of him when I listen to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon or when I see someone in winklepickers. Every now and again, I hear of him through the grapevine. I hear he’s still using his deep and meaningful lines on unsuspecting teenagers. I hear he’s still trying to convince them to take their bras off. I suspect he’s still living at home. And I still stifle a giggle when I see anyone wearing cut off gloves.

But mostly I’m just glad I can wear black again without being doused with holy water. And that Enid Blyton is back on the reading lists.

Mum, on the other hand, found out the priest was still married. Ouch.

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26 thoughts on “Taking Satan home to meet your Mother

  1. bluepeter says:

    that I would like to read (or maybe not). My own bad poetry is bad enough. This just popped up on my screen …

  2. andreas says:

    Those guys fascinate me…not the ones who become evil Bond-style villains, but the ones who still claim to believe in God after they’ve given up lighting candles and molesting alter boys and other priestly things. They’re all like “I love God and believe implicitly in His existence, but I just don’t feel like serving him in such an extreme manner…I wanna have a little secular fun too.”. Jesus, if I truly believed, I’d be as extreme about it as you can get. I mean, Infinity vs 70 years? I wouldn’t even trade the Hef’s earthly lifestyle for that Eternal Reward. I don’t get those guys. Or any Christians, actually.

    Cool blog, D.

  3. zephilla says:

    Why he was defrocked?

  4. jacktonsil says:

    … between your mum and the priest, I mean. I’m always fascinated to learn about new levels of acceptance. The norm seems so limiting at times, doesn’t it? Social programming has us pairing off like we’re only half of what we’re meant to be. And that you paired off with a satanist, D, has me wondering… was the governing law one of opposites or one of affinity?

  5. dolce says:

    Sadly, it was actually the end of mum and men, in fact. The vertitable straw.

    As for that governing law; more a law of parts. Opposites and affinity as well as curiousity and obstinance. The biggest sadness was that I was lured by an empty siren song. He was nothing but a play actor on a rather tawdry stage.

  6. dolce says:

    he was caught shaggin’ his daughter’s music teacher. Now, of course, if he’d been caught shaggin’ the alterboys he’d probably still be fully frocked. A slap on the wrist and a “who’s a naughty boy then”.

  7. jacktonsil says:

    he was kinda like me then 😉

  8. dolce says:

    This has all been a bit tongue in cheek, but I have to admit, the whole experience left me very, very cold. Especially the way the so called Christian community left my mum in the lurch a) because her child questioned everyone and b) because one of their almost forgiven spiritual advisors turned out to be a bigger evil than my rather pathetic Mittens.

    The only good thing that came out of it was that, in an effort to understand what all this emotion was all about I decided to read the Bible, cover to cover. And then the Koran. And then the Torah. All massively interesting. All so similar. But my overriding thought was; misogynistic, sadistic and misinterpreted. Some of Psalms was very cool and Revelations rocks, but mostly, no thanks. But that’s just my opinion.

  9. dolce says:

    Now ain’t that the truth. And I still can’t shake my taste for the bad ‘uns!

    And you certainly don’t want to read that dreadful verse. Embarrassing stuff. All about my virgin blood pulsing with need and stuff…naasty!

  10. dolce says:

    you’ve got a kernel. I know it’s there. I know. 😉

  11. bluepeter says:

    … that’s some serious reading. I would have just stuck with the Social Constructionists. It’s such a beautiful day in Stellenbosch today that I was thinking that if I believed in God, I would say that God is in his/her heaven and all’s right with the world. But since I am sitting on the agnostic fence I can say that the socially constructed Gods are in their socially constructed heaven! Interesting blog. I can give you the psychological take on why girls go for the ‘bad guys’ some time. At the moment I’m deciding whether to waste some more ‘work’ time by posting a dubious poem. Why not hey? I can always remove it if the cringe factor is too much. Lekker dag.

  12. dolce says:

    I’m like a little paragraph in the psychological text book of life….that ol’ absent father thang…nothing like compensating with a string of unsuitable boys. Not to mention using them to assert independence from my loving mummy. The sweet scent of rebellion. Aaah, and I thought I was different…..

    That aside, B_P, ain’t this day glorious? Just the right sort of day for dubious poetry….under an oak tree, with a bottle of Stellie’s finest…post away, my friend, post away….

  13. bluepeter says:

    i’m like a fucking U2 song today. First the “man and a woman” song which makes me think of Zeph (it was the little sister part) then beautiful day. The oak tree with wine and poetry sounds good though. Caffeine buzz, wine lull, poetry sweet and low. Pity I’m such a good boy. *sigh*

  14. dolce says:

    I’m sure there’s a little bit of bad in there.

  15. bluepeter says:

    … of being bad to the bone. Or is that just “boring to the bone”? You see I think too much and drink too little. Speaking of which … how about a lunch at that café down the street? You can give me tips on how to improve my bad cred …

  16. dolce says:

    But I just perused your latest blog. If I have lunch with you, I might get pregnant….

    😉

  17. bluepeter says:

    … it takes a little more than lunch to get pregnant! And I’m a good boy remember. We don’t get girls pregnant on the first date.

  18. dolce says:

    but probably just as well. And don’t discount the potential of good lunch for procreational purposes…

  19. bluepeter says:

    I should have developed those food and sex references, pi style. So you’re not up for a quickie over lunch then? A sandwich and tea is a bit boring compared to …. thee? (ouch) Gypsy ham doesn’t really get the juices flowing.

  20. dolce says:

    Now, if it was prosciutto and a little chianti….

  21. bluepeter says:

    … prostituto there for a second. So this is where I’m supposed to get you in the mood with talk about ripe figs and some fancy Italian cheese. Or I could just cut to the chase (since I have an appointment to go to) and suggest lunch at some suitably chiantiesque café on Friday. I can’t promise my best bad behaviour but we can talk about food and sex all you want. What do you think?

  22. dolce says:

    as long as your thesis is not on “why good girls make bad choices”.

    As tempted as I am…very tempted…my parochial office bound life in the City means Friday lunches under the oaks in Stellenbosch are little but a very pleasant pipe dream…another time maybe?

  23. petridish says:

    to see exactly how small this little column can go.

  24. bluepeter says:

    What would Freud say about your temptations, Dolce? But before this gets really thin and I lose the moment I wasn’t suggesting that you drive out to Stellenbosch to meet some guy who could be (for all you know) a half-crazed drooler. I have a CT semi-life on weekends, which is why I was suggesting a lunch at the Cape Quarter or Dutch Café in Napier street. If you change your mind then email bluepeteonline@yahoo.co.uk – but warn me first.

  25. dolce says:

    stop sucking your thumb, Dolce. And consider yourself warned, BP.

  26. […] I don’t have the best track record, what with the wannabe Satanist boyfriend** and the defrocked priest.  I’ve never been happy with the “just have faith” and “god moves in mysterious ways” […]

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