Two nuns were shopping at a 7-Eleven on a blisteringly hot summer afternoon. The sun beat down on the pavement outside, and even inside the store, the air felt thick and sluggish despite the hum of the refrigerators.
As they passed by the beer cooler, one nun slowed her steps and peered through the glass doors.
“Wouldn’t a nice, cool beer or two taste wonderful on a hot summer evening?” she asked, fanning herself gently with her hand.
The second nun nearly tripped over her sensible shoes.
“Indeed it would, Sister,” she replied carefully, lowering her voice, “but I would not feel comfortable buying beer. I am certain it would cause a scene at the checkout stand.”
The first nun smiled — the kind of smile that suggested she already had a plan.
“I can handle that without a problem,” she said calmly.
Before the other nun could object, she reached into the cooler, picked up a six-pack of beer, and headed confidently toward the checkout counter.
The cashier, a young man barely old enough to shave properly, froze when he saw them approaching. His eyes flicked from the nuns’ habits… to the beer… and back again.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
The silence stretched awkwardly.
Before he could say a word, the first nun leaned forward slightly and said, without hesitation:
“We use beer for washing our hair back at our nunnery. We call it Catholic shampoo.”
The cashier stared at her.
Without blinking an eye, he reached under the counter and pulled out a package of pretzel sticks, setting them neatly beside the beer.
“Then you’ll probably want these too,” he said. “They’re half-price.”
The second nun gasped softly.
“Why on earth would we need pretzels?” she whispered.
The cashier shrugged.
“Every shampoo needs conditioner.”
The first nun burst out laughing — an honest, joyful laugh that echoed through the aisles. Even the second nun couldn’t help but smile.
They paid, thanked the cashier, and headed out the door.
That evening, back at the convent, the two nuns sat beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the courtyard. Cicadas buzzed in the distance, and the air was finally cooling.
The first nun popped open a bottle.
“To clean hair,” she said solemnly.
The second nun hesitated for exactly three seconds… then accepted her own bottle.
“Well,” she said, “if we’re committing this particular sin, we might as well do it properly.”
They clinked bottles.
Just then, Sister Margaret — the strictest nun in the entire convent — appeared at the edge of the courtyard. Her eyes narrowed instantly when she saw the bottles.
“Sisters,” she said sharply, “what exactly do you think you are doing?”
The second nun froze.
The first nun stood calmly.
“Personal hygiene, Sister Margaret,” she replied. “We’re testing a new method.”
Sister Margaret looked at the bottles suspiciously.
“That’s beer.”
“Yes,” the nun said. “For our hair.”
Sister Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“Does it work?”
The nun took another sip, thought for a moment, and nodded.
“It gives excellent body,” she said. “And a remarkable sense of peace.”
Sister Margaret sighed, shook her head, and turned to walk away.
“Just don’t let the bishop find out,” she muttered.
Then she paused… turned back… and added quietly,
“If you’re going back to that store tomorrow, get me the dark ale. My hair’s been feeling dry.”
And that, of course, is how the convent became known — at least to one very confused cashier — as the only place in town where beer sales mysteriously spiked every summer… all in the name of proper Catholic shampoo. 🍺😇
