I originally planned to do a ‘final thoughts on our adventure’ post but this one is much more fun …
… We’ve been home a month. (it feels like forever, and the trip was just a dream)
In that time I’ve contracted an ‘explosive’ stomach bug, probably from the little germ factories at our twin grandsons birthday party we attended four days after we got back. They’re eight. Yesterday I was holding their little one-day-old bodies in my arms. I’m sure it was yesterday.
When the weather turned a couple of weeks ago one of my hips decided it was time to torture me with a new set of arthriticals. (The time is fast approaching when I’m going to have to titanium-ize every joint from my waist down!)
About a week ago one of my ceramic crowned root canal-ed teeth broke above my gum line, hell, above my bone line. I had to have the roots jackhammered out of my skull and a bone graft inserted into the gaping hole left in my upper jaw.
And then …
I have a reasonably high tolerance for lads and lasses who come knocking on my front door trying to sell me their version of eternity … however these two took the cake.
They were dressed as usual in their black pants and white shirts. (you know who I mean. I wonder why no women of that particular religion participate in these exercises) Anyway, they were dutifully working their way down the opposite side of our street. I didn’t spot ‘em until it was too late to close the door and pretend I wasn’t home. I don’t usually hide but given my recent above mentioned travails, I was in no mood to contend with persistent hawkers of any sort.
They rocked up to my front door and without giving them a chance to open their mouths I said, politely, that I knew who they were and why they’re on my doorstep, and I wasn’t interested. The slightly older one gulped like a fish out of water and started his spiel, like I hadn’t said a thing. I slightly less politely interrupted him and repeated myself.
He tried again and again I interrupted him with a significantly pared down version of my own, “Not interested.”
Which brought us to the punchline of the day, nay, the week. The younger one probably feeling the need to earn some brownie points or something, piped up with these immortal words, “But we’re missionaries!” I swear, his voice quivered with innocent confusion.
I had a couple of choices. One, I could get in his face, I’m much bigger and taller, and tell him where he could shove his missionary position. (my face hurt, my hip hurt, and I was fairly certain the remnants of my ‘explosive’ stomach were about to incite a dash to the toilet) Or two, laugh uproariously and shut the door (politely, I’m Canadian after all) in their bright and shiny faces.
They are required to do two years of this (the boys), and then they go home and become instant elders in the Mormon church. The reward is supposed to be worth it.
Some people MUST listen to them occasionally, but I think they’re a lot disconnected from any reality I want to participate in.
In case you’re wondering, I’m a practicing Catholic, and don’t like attempts to convert me. If I need more help, I’ll go find it. When… Uh. That sentence didn’t turn out right. But I’m doing fine struggling my own way, and don’t plan on changing. There. Is that better?
And certainly not because some snot nosed kids in white shirts and black pants have the nerve to knock on my door. And I’m not even Canadian.
I knew where you were going. 🙂
You get brownie points for doing #2 with all that pain you had going on. We haven’t got any religious zealots at our front door in a long while. Mostly, girls and guys who want to sell us pest control, carpet cleaning, and faster Internet service. Watch, we’ll get 7th Day Adventists tomorrow.
Yep. 🙂 You gotta love Murphy’s Law!
One of the nice things about having a front door in a hallway in a big old building from 1902 — once you hear who they are, you don’t buzz them in in the first place. 🙂
Yep. Never had this happen when we were living in an apartment.:)
Gosh, I’m so sorry about your health issues. As for those ‘missionaries’ I don’t even open my door to them. Part of my door is made of glass, so I see who is knocking. When I see them with their little brochures I just shook my head and move away from the door.
Heh, heh, heh. I can just see it! 😀
Green butterflies, blue frogs, black and white penguins at the door… what’s next? 😀
Oh, dear! So sorry to hear all your health woes!
As for why no women — because it’s a patriarchal society, and no man who answered the door should be expected to the girls explaining anything. 😛 Or maybe they think they’re protecting the little dears from what they might encounter out there in the world. Mind you, my husband has some Mormon relatives, whom I love dearly, but I definitely don’t see eye-to-eye with them on religion.
My latest door-to-door visitor was a Jehovah’s Witness. He had the coolest tie, and I complimented him on it. He told me it was a chalice knot, and he learned to tie it from YouTube. I googled it and have decided this is the start of a new character. There are a lot of really fabulous knots out there. (And I told him firmly that my best friend in school was a Jehovah’s Witness, and I decided decades ago that I wasn’t interested, so I didn’t want to waste his time.)
Googled it too … and lost an hour! Who knew!
There’s something vaguely clitoral about that knot though, which is hilarious seeing as these dudes have it tied around their throat!!!!
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Sorry about all your travails, sounds awful. At least you still have a sense of humor! We rarely get missionaries at our house, and it certainly requires some free time and the right mood to engage in the philosophical merry-go-round. I hope you feel better soon.
Thanks D 🙂 … I’m still not used to the gap in my teeth. My tongue is like a heat seeking missile. I have to keep on reminding it to go play on the other side of my mouth!
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I hate anything to do with dentists. It’s my one big fear. I looked it up – dentophobia! 🙂
Titanium-izing your joints will take you a significant step closer to becoming Wolverine, which (I would say) is not all bad…
Indeed. 😀 Think I’ll skip the haircut though, too much gel!
There seems to be a fair number of successful Mormon fiction writers. Next time ask them their secret.
Heh, heh, heh. 😀
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