The village of Oakhaven was so small that the local priest, Father Miller, and the town’s only doctor, Dr. Sterling, had to share a tiny office building right next to the pub.
One Sunday, the confessional booth broke, so Father Miller had to hear confessions in the doctor’s exam room behind a thin curtain.
Young Daisy, the village flirt known for wearing dresses that were “optimistic” at best, stepped in. She whispered, “Father, forgive me, for I have been very, very naughty with the blacksmith, the baker, and—last night—the cider maker.”
Before the priest could respond, a gust of wind blew the curtain open. Daisy, realizing she was standing under a bright exam light, strike a pose and said, “Oh, Father, I’m so embarrassed. Does my soul look as scandalous as my reputation?”
Father Miller sighed, adjusted his glasses, and looked at her over the Bible. “Daisy, my dear, I’m a man of the cloth, not a miracle worker. But if you keep standing like that, I’m going to have to check the doctor’s schedule to see if he has a cure for ‘Clerical Heart Failure.'”
He cleared his throat and added, “For your penance, say three Hail Marys and go put on a sweater. You’re making the stained-glass saints sweat.”
