Mary McAleese has threatened to leave the Catholic Church which, on the face of it, looks like a real threat.
Most of us born into this institution of institutions didn't have any say in joining and know there is no way of leaving.
You can stop obeying the rules, of course, renounce God and live a life of hedonistic abandon, but you'll still be on the books.
If the Eagles thought checking out of Hotel California was a bad trip, they should try ringing the bell at the reception desk in St Peter's and see what happens.
An echoing silence tumbling down its august marble halls and nothing more.
You can change your passport, even swap your gender these days, but you will always be a Catholic to the marrow of your bones.
Like death and taxes, it's one of those irrefutable laws of being born into a certain tradition at a certain place and time.
Most people wear their Catholicism lightly these days and it is difficult in some social circles to get anyone to admit they are still signed up.
Such a confession could get you arrested at a dinner party in south Dublin.
Despite that, 78pc of Irish people declared themselves Papists in the 2016 census, down from 84pc in 2011 and a further slight retreat from an average of just under 90pc between 1881 and 1911.
Just shows, when push comes to shove, Irish people are still bound to the deep and tenacious roots of the Church of Rome.
You have to go back to the Reformation, the plantations and the Penal Laws to understand why Catholicism became even more deeply embedded in the Irish psyche than before and how nationalism traded on this in the late 18th and into the 19th century.
That narrow furrow of identity has caused us all sorts of problems, a divided island not the least of them. Still, here we are.
But there's a broader and deeper resonance too.
There is something comforting about being part of a Christian tradition that can trace itself back two millennia and has, for all its myriad excesses and absurdities, been the beating heart of Western civilisation for all of that time.
I'm not sure of my part in this seamless narrative anymore because I rarely kneel at any pew, but I'm absolutely sure I'd feel culturally, if not necessarily spiritually, diminished without it.
If the former president works out how she can quit I would be fascinated to know what sort of form she gets to fill out and if she gets a receipt. Miracles do happen, I suppose.
At this stage we all know that Covid-19 is not to be sneezed at, but it still doesn't excuse the level of hysteria and dystopian melodrama that surrounds it.
It does have its lighter moments, of course, and social media - itself responsible for spreading the fear a lot faster than the virus spreads itself - has to be credited with providing some of the funniest.
The viral video of women brawling over loo rolls in an Australian supermarket has to be my favourite.
If we were on the cusp of the Poo Apocalypse I'd understand this desperation to stock up on the very best in quilted softness but these, ahem, ladies seem to have their orifices confused.
Is the world having a collective dose of the stupids?
Quite possibly. Unfortunately, unlike Covid-19 nobody seems to be working on a cure.