Sticky for Weeks

“May I please come in?” the new wine said.

The old wineskin looked at the new wine with eyes kind of squinty. “I am not sure that would be entirely wise.”

“Nevertheless, that is my request.”

“Would you promise to be good?”

“I can promise to act according to my nature.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” said the old wineskin.

“It is good for new wine to be new wine,” said the new wine.

“Yes, it is good for the new wine to be new wine, but this is only good for the new wine. My question concerns whether it is good for the old wineskin.”

“That I cannot say,” said the new wine. “I am new around here.”

“I don’t know either,” said the old wineskin. “The last time I had any new wine in me was back when I was a new wineskin. Ah, those were the days . . . I remember one time when Machen . . .”

“Excuse me,” the new wine said. “May I come in?”

“Yes, you may. But I don’t want you to make the presbytery blow up, and then the floor would be sticky for weeks.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all we can expect.”

“Will the rest of the old wineskin do its best too?”

“I am afraid that is asking bit too much.”

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