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epitome of incomprehensibility
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No, it's not the name of my new industrial metal band.
It's just that I received a list of songs for a concert in two weeks and one of them was misspelled as "Penis Angelicus" (supposed to be Panis). This made me laugh, but then the laugh sort of caught in my throat when I remembered the circumstances of accepting to sing in this thing:
A former choir leader emails me, saying he's doing a fundraiser concert and would I please accept to sing in it? For a "$100 fee?"
I am busy and grumpy: I say sure, okay, but only if I don't have to pay $100, that's too much to expect.
No, no, he writes back, you'll be paid $100.
Oh.
So then I look foolish, and I write that it's okay, if it's a fundraiser I don't want to accept a payment.
His wording was ambiguous, but I don't know why I was such a grouch. Ungrouchiness means having to say you're sorry less often - not having to be an angel to make up for being a dick. But hey, I shouldn't insult literal dicks.
And I don't picture angels as having genitalia. They feel less body-bawdy, more clout-cloudy, like Douglas Adam's superintelligent shades of blue or C. S. Lewis's slice-of-light aliens.
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