MY GOD, WHO MADE US

There's no real logic behind the way the members of some cultures look at utilitarian parts of the female form....

A sudden sonorous voice in the abyss thundered with barely coherent words, almost distorted to meaningless, such was its volume:

“WHAT IS THAT?”

Silence, then a whisper. Clear but close to silence.

And the whispered reply was confused.

“It’s my wife,” it said. “My lovely, pure and innocent wife the apple of my eye and the greatest of beauties ever created…”

“AND WHAT ARE THOSE?” The roar burst a few eardrums way down in the abyss as the sudden voice persisted.

“What?” The whisper was confused by the very ferocity of the thundering voice, and anyway daren’t look anywhere except into the blind depth of the abyss.

“THOSE???”

A hand appeared from the darkness and an extended finger pointed. It wavered slightly as those impelled by a nervous burst of anger might waver.

“THOSE!!!”

“You mean her legs… my wife’s legs …?”

“THOSE!!!”

“They’re … sir, they’re her legs … her beautiful, useful, wonderful legs…” The whisper retreated to an eventual silence.

“AND YOU’RE LOOKING AT THEM?”

“I think they’re…. they’re…”

“THEY’RE WHAT?”

“Attractive … lovely … beautiful…”

The voice from that abyss made an ingesting, crunching sort of sound, as if it had just swallowed its own teeth.

“AS I SAID, YOU’RE LOOKING AT THEM!”

“She needs them, sir, for walking, for kneeling, for being alive, and anyway I rather like looking at such perfection….”

“BUT YOU’RE ABLE TO SEE THEM!”

“Of course. They’re there….”

“THEN COVER THEM UP, MORTAL! TAKE THE SIGHT OF SUCH EVIL APPENDAGES AWAY FROM YOUR EYES SO THAT YOU’RE NO LONGER TEMPTED… YOU MUST NEVER BE TEMPTED BY THE EVIL…” The voice slithered up and down an octave for a moment, “…OF SINFUL LEGS!” it concluded.

The whisper took a step back. Then:

“You have me at a disadvantage,” it said, “who are you to issue such peculiar orders?”

“I AM THE LORD YOUR GOD AND I CREATED THOSE LEGS!”

The whisper seemed to relent, then: “Oh, you again! Bugger off before I call the police … who are you to tell me that I can’t catch the odd glimpse of my own wife’s lovely legs … I’ll even stare if you like … I find them almost addictively beautiful and if, as you suggested, you created them then you should be inordinately proud of your work and not find anything sinful about it…”

“YOU FOOL!” roared from the abyss, “YOU MONUMENTAL FOOL WITH A BRAIN SO WEAKENED BY PERVERSION THAT YOU CAN BE BEGUILED BY THE SIN IN THOSE LEGS, AND BE TURNED BY THEM TOWARDS THE WORST OF ALL TRANSGRESSIONS!!”

“And what is that?” asked the whisper, almost nervously, afraid of what the reply might be.

“YOU MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO THE WORST OF ALL WICKEDNESS!” shouted the resonant abyss, “YOU MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO REPRODUCE!!!”

“Oh,” sighed the whisper, “We’ve already done that, lots of times … meet the kids…”

And a million tribes of children popped, like bubbles, into existence and called “mummy, daddy”… as the abyss grew light with a new day dawning like new days always have.