Our next door neighbors are young Mormon missionary boys.
I've been keeping tabs on them for a while and I count four.
Four bikes on the porch, four little helmets neatly in a row.
I have to admit I'm terribly intrigued by them. All I've heard of Mormonism is that they don't drink coffee, alcohol (of course), keep many wives on their farms back home -- and God lives on a planet and has sex with Spirit Ladies to create Souls.
They also got some revelatory stones but then they got taken back? (indian givers)
All this is too much for my curious little mind!
So I'm out to get proselytized.
I see them every day, shiny little faces, badges proclaiming them "elders" neatly pinched on their starched shirts; getting geared up to win the world one neighborhood at a time.
I try to look as sheepy as possible.
I smile and instigate conversations such as "Hi".
So far, my mission is not going well. They've probably seen my little balled belly and decided that I must be living in sin and already dammed to Hell-fhar! and Tarnation!
Aw shucks, say I. Maybe I should invite them over for coffee...