Regarding Original Sin ...

Tracey was on the phone again today.
You’ll remember: I like Tracey.

We exchanged the customary telephonic pleasantries, without the necessity to remember my mother's maiden name or several characters from an obscure password, before she came to the point:

“Have you had an accident that wasn’t your fault?” she enquired.

I thought of several such incidents and decided to err on the side of caution.
“Yes, many!” I replied.

At this, Tracey's enquiries went up a gear. Incisively she continued: “Would you like to tell me about the first one?”

“Well, I have no clear recollection of it, but I was born.”

Tracey asked, "Are you sure it was an accident?"
"Well," said I, "I can't imagine that anyone would want to conceive me on purpose!"
“So how did you suffer as a result of this accident?”
“I suffered it well; I’ve had a lifetime of practice,” said I.

“Now, come on.” said Tracey, “Be more specific, please.”
“Well,” I responded, “How would you like to have the middle name of ‘Stanley’?”

“So is your first name ‘Accrington’?” asked Tracey.
(If only, I pondered: that would have been magnificent. I could have sported a coat of arms!)

Then Tracey asked me when this accident occurred.
I rapidly added nine months of gestation to my age and gave her an approximate date.

“Oh, that long ago!” she exclaimed.
“Who do you think was to blame for this accident?” she asked.

I paused to consider this philosophical question.
“Ultimately, Adam and Eve,” I replied.
“Oh, yes,” said Tracey, “and where are they now?”
“Somewhere in Paradise with fig-leaves, an apple tree and a snake,” was my reply.
 “ …Oh, you could try an old china-clay pit near St. Austell in Cornwall.”

Eventually Tracey announced that acts of God were beyond the scope of litigation.

Fine, but it was lovely talking to her.