The Mormons hate me
Last week a couple Mormon missionaries came to the door. Having grown up in rural Wisconsin, which is not conducive to door-to-door people of any stripe, this was my first experience with them. In addition, I hate confrontation, and they were such nice boys that I didn't want to hurt their feelings. Somehow they worked out that they would return the next Wednesday around noon or one and I was flustered and had been hoping Beardo would walk by, scary brute that he is. I even asked for a card, but they didn't seem or didn't want to understand that I didn't really want them to come back. They didn't even take the hint when I started favoring my leg even more than usual, leaning against the doorjamb, and making sure to move the cane around to attract notice. After they left and I told Beardo what had happened he told me I had made an appointment and they were going to want to come in and sit at the table and have a long discussion and I was horrified. It was never my intent to lead them on. I didn't know what I was getting into.
I've been waiting for two months for my insurance and my physical therapy to agree on sessions. Lo and behold, on Tuesday, I got a letter saying I was approved for another consultation (not a full pack of sessions, but hey) and I called the therapy place. Their opening was Wednesday, at 10:30. Now, if I was a religious person, I would say this is God's way of telling me to stay the hell away from Mormons. I'm sure the Mormons would say it was Satan. There was no way I'd be home in time and still finally be back in physical therapy, so Beardo and I decided to do our grocery shopping together afterward while we were out anyway, run errands.
We got home around 3pm. Resting on the doorknob was a card with the temple and a post-it attached:
Which was fine. Until I flipped it over.
It was about 80F that day.
I'm sure I will be the first against the wall when the Mormon-Islam holy war starts.
I've been waiting for two months for my insurance and my physical therapy to agree on sessions. Lo and behold, on Tuesday, I got a letter saying I was approved for another consultation (not a full pack of sessions, but hey) and I called the therapy place. Their opening was Wednesday, at 10:30. Now, if I was a religious person, I would say this is God's way of telling me to stay the hell away from Mormons. I'm sure the Mormons would say it was Satan. There was no way I'd be home in time and still finally be back in physical therapy, so Beardo and I decided to do our grocery shopping together afterward while we were out anyway, run errands.
We got home around 3pm. Resting on the doorknob was a card with the temple and a post-it attached:
Which was fine. Until I flipped it over.
It was about 80F that day.
I'm sure I will be the first against the wall when the Mormon-Islam holy war starts.