While randomly clicking on links to blogs the other day, I came across this post. It cracked me up, because seriously, some people are just soooo anti-social & for those social butterflies (like myself), it is unbelievably painful to be stuck in an awkward situation with someone who just does not want to talk. Somehow, that reminded me of this story:
I moved into a little apartment when I left home. It was about 2 seconds from campus, and was perfect for me (not so much for Kooter, but that's another story all together). I was young, skinny, and still learning how to be assertive, authoritative, and sassy. I struggled a bit with anxiety, as I still do. I was also drunk a lot, but I digress.
The doorbell rang one day, and it was 2 young men, Mormons, asking me about my faith in God. Now, if you know me at all, you know that I am polite and respectful to everyone, sometimes to a fault. So, of course, I politely tell them that I was raised in the Catholic church, and do believe in God. One of them actually stepped his foot into my teeny foyer. They continued to ask me things: Did I believe in Jesus? Did I pray? Did I attend church regularly? Blah blah blah.
I answered everything politely, but at the same time, my mind was racing wildly, trying to come up with a way to get them the hell out of here. They finally left when they convinced me to take a copy of The Book of Mormon, telling me they would come back to discuss it with me. Shoot me.
[A little back story is required here:
In high school, I briefly talked to a boy (and I say boy because he was almost 2 years younger than me) who was Mormon. He was sweet, silly, funny, and awkward in his own way. His parents were strict, and guess what? His mother f-ing hated me. HATED ME. Actually, that is putting it pretty mildly. One night we were sitting in his driveway talking when his mother asked that we come inside. So we went to the family room, and continued talking. Seriously, TALKING. This boy was young, and I was cautious, since I had my heart trampled on several times in the last year or so. So, during the course of our conversation, he leans over and kisses me, out of the blue. Sparks, I tell you. Also? His mother walks in. Gives him a stern look, won't even look in my direction, and leaves the room. He leaves, and comes back a few minutes later to tell me I have to leave. And not ever come back. And OMG, his mother doesn't like me because I am Catholic, corrupt, and just kissed his son.
We hardly talked after that. I felt like a total WHORE for letting him kiss me. Thanks, religion. Thanks, MORMONS. Sheesh. (And yes, I realize that I can't label alllllll Mormons as asshats because his mother was an asshat, but sheesh. )]
So, yeah, I don't really know how to handle me some Mormons (no offense, if there are any Mormons reading this).
A few weeks go by. I forget about them and their book. I was dating my now-husband at the time, and if you know him at all, you know he doesn't put up with shit. So one day the doorbell rings, and I peek out my bedroom blinds to see who it is. It's the Mormon guys. I frantically whisper the entire situation to now-husband, and he tells me he will take care of it.
As I lie on the kitchen floor, as quiet as can be, he 'takes care of it'. He tells them that I am at work, that he doesn't think I opened the book at all, and hands it back to them. He then tells them that they are welcome to go visit me at work. They fall right into that trap, and ask where I work. He proceeds to tell them that I am a stripper, and work at some titty bar in Dallas. He even starts to give them directions to the imaginary place!
Dead silence for a few seconds.
I wish I could have seen the looks on their faces.
He then tells them that they are welcome to go up to my place of employment and pray for me and 'all those other lost souls'. Then he closes the door.
I waited a good minute before laughing my head off.
They never came back.
I am soooo going to hell, aren't I?