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Mormons are the Leading Cause of Heart Damage

There’s been some major excitement in my mailbox over the past few days. No really, my MAILBOX. This is not a euphemism.

Saturday I received my college diploma (Can I get a hell yeah?).

Monday was also pretty eventful. I received a whopping 13 credit card offers. I’m practically rich.

Yesterday’s trip to the mailbox was heart stopping exciting. I opened my front door, stepped into the dark and was startled when two strange men were standing there. Once my heart began beating again I tried to figure out why these men were here.

They were too old to be Mormon missionaries. Ah-hah, they must be my graduation parade!

The University is fired. Two old dudes in pleated khaki pants weren’t what I had in mind. I wanted a float, a jazz band and someone throwing candy at kids. Not to kids, at kids. What? Kids always ruin parades.

Stranger dudes weren’t a two-man parade, nope. They were welcoming me to the neighborhood. You know the neighborhood I moved into MONTHS AGO. I asked which neighboring houses they lived in, but found they lived blocks away. There was something suspicious about this late welcome.

This welcome screamed Mormon, so I nonchalantly asked…

“Are you with the neighborhood watch? Or did the church send you? Are you my home teachers? Where are my baked goods? Who turned me in? Was it my mom? It’s always the mothers. Though it could have been my grandma. Or maybe one of my brothers as a prank. Is this a prank? OH MY GOD, are you really here to sell me a vacuum?”

I was met with a moment of confused silence. My line of bombarding questions usually has that effect on people.

Once composure was regained—theirs not mine…OBVIOUSLY—they confessed to being from the “ward” and were just informed of my neighborhood arrival. I appreciate them making me sound like royalty, but in my world royalty should be awarded with baked goods. They already provided heart damage by scaring me, so they may as well obstruct my arteries with deliciously fatty food.

Is that really too much to ask?



  • So by “mailbox” you mean…?

  • still waiting for them to come back… I think cottonsox scared them away.

  • That was the most unoffensive post you’ve ever written about Mormon’s. I enjoyed it 🙂

  • We tolerate the home teachers, cause it’s the only way to find out what’s up in the neighborhood.

  • I got “the visit” during my house warming party. Luckily as I opened the front door they could see across the room through the back window where they could observe the drunken debauchery centered on the hot tub and bar on the back deck.

    They never returned.

  • Those Mormons are tricky! You have every right to interrogate them!

  • Oh and YAY (with a little squeal on the inside) for getting your diploma! So effing proud of you!

  • Haven’t you removed your name from the fricken list yet?

    But then again, that ends all possibility of baked goods so maybe you shouldn’t.

  • (My ex-hometeachers (who are also my next door neighbors) threw a party when they found out they didn’t have to visit us anymore)

  • Church reps only came to my apartment once — during a Talk Like A Pirate party on my porch when I first moved to Utah. My friends all yarrred at them. Then the men kept asking me about my 11-year-old neighbor with no mention of his dad, so I thought they were child predators and told them to leave.

    The kid later told me they were real church people.

    Needless to say, they never came back to welcome me to the neighborhood.

  • (WARNING! Boring Mission Story…)

    So, out in Minnesota, we were given a list of lost church members and their last known address. Our approach was supposed to be “We’re from Sarah’s church. we really care about our members, and we’d like to know if you know where she moved to.” It worked great when the people had lived in the house for 10 years. They were like “Yeah, you care so much that you check on them 10 years later. Douchebags.”

  • Funny! I like your writing style.
    I had a similar visit several years ago. It was in the morning and I was home with two kids under three. I can’t stand it when people come by unannounced. I knew they weren’t FBI agents and hiding from the previous Jehovah’s witnesses wasn’t working for me, so I decided to just go ahead and open the door. I hadn’t had a shower, was bra-less, holding a fruit smoothie that looked like a Dacquiri and both boys were now crying. They looked rather concerned; like I would be too much of a challenge. That was my entertainment for the day!

    Congrats on your degree!


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