I Let Mormon Missionaries Inside My Home
Have You Heard the Good News?
I just took our little dog Libby out for a walk a bit ago. Running around our townhome complex is one of the high points of Mooch’s day, other than any time involving food. She loves a good “buh-bye”.
Of course, she has to be on a leash, requiring me to run her around. It could get ugly if she wasn’t on her leash. Sadly, Libby has more balls than brains. Typical small dog big-dick energy, that one.
Whatever. Mooch needs her yard time, and I don’t mind a few walks a day. We both could use the exercise. She knows it as well as I do.
Mooch isn’t very cool about things going on around her. She tends to bark at anyone else that she sees moving. Dogs, especially. Small children irritate the hell out of her unless they approach quietly.
That is seldom the case. You know this if you’ve ever been around small children.
Today was a bit different, though. She saw something on the horizon. Two figures approached. I immediately tried to position myself between her and the two young men who were walking in our direction.
As we approached our front door, the friendly young fellas said hello. Great, we’ve been spoken to before I had a chance to get my key in the door. Better play nice.
I said hello back and surprisingly, Libby approached them cautiously. This was unusual for her with two young men. But they seemed to know how to approach an unfamiliar dog, so perhaps that was it.
They asked if they could come in and rest for a few minutes. They likely saw my shaggy hair and figured that I needed a little witnessing to. Oh boy.
Normally, I have no patience for this kind of thing. Being raised in church from the 70s through well into the 90s, I felt confident that I knew more than they did about the Bible. At least enough to know I wanted no part of organized religion.
Maybe it’s the ever-warming pre-spring weather. Perhaps it was Mooch being friendly toward them. For whatever reason, I thought, “Why not? This could be fun.”
I let them inside.
I almost offered them a Coke, but quickly changed my mind, switching to Sprite. I know they’re not supposed to drink caffeine. That’s one of the odd little rules their religion has. They seemed to appreciate this.
I then poured myself a large glass of wine. To the top. Like, I had to balance it to even get over to the couch and coffee table. I was sure to swill down a giant gulp, noticing their eyes widening.
“Oh, I hope you fellas don’t mind. Been a hell of a day, already. I know it’s only 1:30, but it’s 5 ‘o clock somewhere, am I right?” I said with a slightly devilish grin on my face.
Elder Merritt asked me curiously, “Uh, what do you do for a living? It’s your day off, I take it?”
Me: “Oh no, I don’t get days off. I’m a writer. Mainly for Medium.com. And I do some content writing, but that sucks ass. Er, sucks bottom, rather.” I eyed him as I accentuated the word “bottom”, with a gleam in my eye while slurping down more cabernet.
He adjusted his tie uncomfortably and looked down at Libby. Mooch was giving him a curious stare, with her head cocked to one side, as if to say, “Well, it’s your move, Goddy-Boy.”
I looked at Elder #2 suspiciously. “So what’s your story, Chief? You got a name? Pardon me for not being able to read that name tag from across the room. I have issues with my eyesight, sadly.”
He smiled and seemed a bit more confident than his 19-year-old partner. “Yes Sir! My name is Elder Robinson. I’m glad to know you. I’m sorry about your eyesight. Is it serious?”
I smiled while sipping more wine. “Oh, nothing too serious. It’s degenerative. You know that thing they tell you when you grow up in church? That little number about if you masturbate often, you’ll go blind?”
Elder Robinson’s smile disappeared suddenly. “Uh, yeah?”
*Sip time. I continued, “Yeah, well I always figured that was bullshit and they only said that to stop you from jerking off. Yet here we are.” I crossed my eyes ever so slightly while smiling at them both.
Elder Merritt snapped out of his shock for a brief second and asked, “So you grew up in church?”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Three times a week. My dad was the pastor, in fact. True story.” I toasted them with my half-full glass of vino before taking another drink.
Elder Robinson looked a bit apprehensive at this point. “Um, what happened? I assume you’re not actively involved in church at this point?”
I side-eyed him and answered, “Why would you say that, BROTHER?”
“Uh, no reason in particular, I guess.” he stammered.
I replied back, “Hey, just because a man might be day-drinking on a Tuesday afternoon doesn’t make him a bad person. I just got tired of all the rules involved with the church. Being I had a five-a-day Whack-a-Pole habit by 13, I knew I was going to be conflicted in my religious beliefs.”
I saw the two of them look at each other and I could tell they were mentally debating if this was a lost cause or not. I excused myself briefly to use the restroom. I came back with a cigar box and sat down.
Elder Robinson said, “Uh Sir, we don’t smoke. Cigars aren’t acceptable in our religion.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right, Boys. These aren’t cigars, that’s an old box they came in, a gift from a Cuban hooker I was bangin’ in the late 90s. That’s just where I keep my weed stash.” I said as I pulled out my supply of Purple Haze.
Elder Merritt said, “Marijuana is illegal here in Idaho, Sir!”, his voice reaching a nervous, higher pitch.
“Whoa, settle down there, Brigham Young. I won’t tell if you won’t. Besides, illegal weed tastes better, anyway.” I answered as I licked the Zig-Zag wrap and filled it with a solid amount to make a passable joint.
Elder Robinson stood up and nervously said, “Oh, wow. Look at the time, we have to be going. Thank you for the Sprite, Sir.” Elder Merritt was on his feet so quickly, he almost stepped on Mooch.
“Hey! Watch the goddamn dog, Son. She’s getting old. We both smoke this, me for my glaucoma, her for her arthritis. Don’t be a bitch and get owned by a dog. I thought we were gonna talk religion, here?”
“Oh, we really have to be going, but thank you!” Elder Robinson yelled as they flew through the door.
I looked at Libby and she shook her head at me as if to say, “twats”. Damn. Just when we were going to get some of that old-time religion up in this place. &:^)
About the Creator
71x Top Writer on Medium. I love blogging about family, politics, relationships, humor, and writing. Read my blog here! &:^)
I just LOVE your humor and "take" on the mundane things. My sister used to let the Jehovah Witnesses in just for the sheer "entertainment value" and so her little dog (very similar to yours, it seems...) could shred and chew on The Watchtower!