Anybody who knows me knows that I am far from being a natty dresser. Shabby and seedy gets it better. I am still wearing literally threadbare clerical shirts which I bought in the eighties; I have just noticed naked knee staring up at me through one of the two pairs of trousers that I possess. Few shoes in the Ordinariate are downer at heel than mine. I possess a cassock-alb and a polyester chasuble. I am a lace-free zone.
But if I got a letter like that sent by the Holy Father to his new nominees to the College of Cardinals ... telling them to receive their new status in a way "far from any expression of worldliness or from any form of celebration contrary to the evangelical spirit of austerity, sobriety, and poverty" ... well, poor, flawed sinner that I am, my immediate and deplorably concupiscent instinct would be to order Gammarelli's to make me a galero and do it instantissime with cappa magna to follow; and to find a sympathetic princess in Rome who might loan me her palace for a lavish reception.
Does this mean that, deep down, I count as a genuine narcissistic butterfly?