Tucked into the crack of our front door last night was the smallest of postcards. You know the one. The picture of Christ, palms sunward, arms outstreached as if to say "come back to me my child...oh how I have missed you."
Guilt has already taken up residence.The message on the back of the card reads: Welcome to the ward! We will try to say hello another time! ~The Elders (aka the Morman Missionaries coming to convert us yet again & change our evil ways).
THE ELDERS! THE ELDERS! Say it aint so, say it aint so! Is this some cruel elaborate joke?
Who told on us? How did they know we were here? Was it you Dad? If so, not funny dude, not funny!
Do missionaries have some kind of special telapathic portal that connects them with the big guy himself? Do they get special broadcasting alerts making them aware of inactive obstinant Jack Mormons that have just moved to the area?
Clearly, I've got problems now.
My record for dodging random knocks at the door and kind acts of service from young men in white shirts and ties: three weeks, two days and four cups of coffee. They always seem to find a way into the front room asking silly questions.
>>When would be a good time to come back?
My answer: Oh I dont know, we stay pretty busy around here. My husband is working really odd hours now....blah...blah...blah.....blah. Maybe next week?
What Im really thinking: Please go away. I dont want to go to hell. I just want to finish my beer while it's cold and my kids are still napping.
>>There is a short message we would like to share with you about The Plan of Salvation, could we come back next Tuesday?
My answer: Yeah...well...Im pretty sure Jeremy be working swing shift by then so next week may not work out after all.
What Im really thinking: MESSAGE...PLAN OF SALVATION!?!? Oh crap! Short message my ass! That'll take forever!
>>Oh, sure, no problem Sister McBride. We'll just try to catch you at a better time then. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do for you and your family?
My answer: I don't think so, (hand on chin in deep thought) but thanks anyway (smile politely).
What I'm really thinking: Yeah, there's about a thousand things that you can do for me. One of you can start in the back yard with the mountains of gigantic turds courtesy of Zelda the Wonder Dog. After that there is an entire laundry room full of pleasant afterthoughts courtesy of my daughter, the amazing pooping machine. I've got floors to mop, a garden to weed, two dirty kids, and a dog vomit smell to seek out and destroy in the bedroom. So take your pick, I've got all afternoon and another bottle of wine in the fridge.
I know all their tricks. Just like me, missionaries guard what they're really thinking. For example:
>>When would be a good time to come back?
Translation: We are going to come back no matter what you say. We'll catch you at the most awkward times. Like when you've just put the kids to bed and you're making out with your husband on the sofa. Or like that time we caught you and your friends doing keg stands in the front yard.
>>We'd like to share a message with you...
Translation: We need to save your souls right this very moment. The sooner we come back the better. You are so going to hell!
>>Is there anything we can do for you?
Translation: Please, let me guilt you into letting us in your home. After we paint your house, landscape the front yard and give your dog a bath you're sure to let us in. We wont keep score. Don't worry.
Why, after all these years of hiding out, screening phone calls and making up stories, I'm still not able to say what is really on my mind? Enough! I'm determined. I can tell them thanks but no thanks right? I can be polite but firm in my answers. I can and I will!
It's a new day folks...wish me luck!
~Ang
Found your blog..don't ask me how or where..I don't remember. I'm a borderline Mormon as well and can relate to this post, so totally. Just wanted to say hello. Hi! You don't know me at all and I hope that's okay.
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