Sister Missionaries

The time had come. It only took them around 6 1/2 years to find me. Or rediscover me, or whatever.

A long time ago, I had plans. If they ever visited me, I would mess with them. I would show them and their religion the wrath (or mirth) of the once-initiated. I would make them rue the day they decided to darken my door.

I have a feeling someone ratted me out. Whether it was a relative, or a friend, or a somewhat nosy neighbor, I don't know.

It was a perfect Sunday afternoon. My sweetheart and I had just returned to my apartment after eating lunch and shopping at an India Sweets. The heaviness of the meal made my eyes droopy, and I opened the blinds in my bedroom to let warm sunlight in while I dozed on my bed. My boyfriend was more content to play games or surf the internet or do whatever it is that boys do with their girlfriends' laptops when the girlfriends aren't watching.

I heard the knock. It was odd, considering my only visitors are my boyfriend and my neighbor, and my neighbor was out of town. My sweetheart came into the bedroom, uncomfortable to answer the door at a home that was not his own.

I checked the peephole before I opened the door. I saw two young girls, with big black badges that said, "We are the bringers of Christ! We will give you the Word Of God and you will listen to our message!!!" They must be desperate if they are sending such sweet things into the mission field to tract.

Oh Christ. My wit escaped me.

I opened the door, and to my surprise there were not only two but three young girls huddled in the narrow hallway. Sister Chica and Sister Sweet Spirit, and some other random woman who seemed vaguely familiar to me. They introduced themselves, and said something. . . introductory. I seemed to have missed all that.

"Actually, I'm a former mormon."

"Oh really?!? (they have those?)" the girls squealed. "Why did you leave?"

I muttered something about doctrinal and cultural issues, but I could have gone on and on. Proposition 8. Mountain Meadows. Joe Smith and his peepstone in the hat, or his multiple marriages to already-married and young (14, was it?) women. How about the fact that, if I had drunk their kool-aid, I would probably be married with at least two children, with no education and no career.

I could have brought up problems with book of mormon archeology, or book of abraham nonsense. I could have brought up their weird temple (i.e. masonic) rituals and dead-dunking practices.

But no. I let them go. They are young, and earnest. Most importantly they would not have understood.

The random member, who was not badged, asked me what my name was again. Oh, they are good at social engineering, those Mormons. I gave them my first name even though I could have said that I never told them my name to begin with.

Sister Sweet Spirit asked repeatedly if there was anything they could do for me, and made sure I had a book of mormon (I lied, as my copy of the book of mormon is at my parents' house, and the only reason I haven't burned it yet is because my grandmother gave it to me and wrote something kind inside the book). Sister Sweet Spirit earnestly bore her testimony, which went something like this:

"I know blah blah is true blah blah Book of Mormon blah blah Jesus blah blah truth blah blah blah" and went on for at least 3 minutes. I don't actually remember anything that she said, because I zoned out after the first "I know blah blah is true".

They will most probably come around again. I've thought about looking up their mission president and asking nicely not to have them bother me. I'm not interested in ever going back to that religion. My lifestyle and point-of-view is completely unharmonious with a Molly Mormon lifestyle. It would kill my spirit to give up my individuality for their religious ideal, and that is completely unacceptable to me. However, any contact initiated by me will only encourage them. I only spend half my weekends at my apartment, and most of the time I am not at home.

After they left, my boyfriend was surprised that I was not mean to them, or "messed" with them. He had a beer that he did not even want to drink cracked open, ready to shock demure LDS sisters into never coming this way again. Sitting on the couch, almost shaking, I said,

"I need a drink."