Friendly Mormons, Where Are You?


I’m thinking of dabbling in religion, specifically I’m thinking of getting to know some Mormons. I used to know some, a lovely couple. One of their children was in the same class at school as one of mine.

He was a Mormon priest. He lent me his reference books while I was studying. He drove me places. He did my garden every second weekend. All of this in exchange for a mere 30 minutes per fortnight (timed) of trying to convert me. Right from the start, when he first offered my child and I a lift home from school, I told him, ‘You’ll never get Dotty,’ and he knew he wouldn’t, bless him, but he kept up the pretense over a glass of fruit juice, a packet of Digestives and the copy of the Book of Mormon he gave me. He felt sorry for me. His wife did too. I let them. While he did the garden she cleaned my house. She kept it sparkling, and she also brought her own cleaning products with her which saved me having to buy any. One day she offered to decorate the bedrooms. I couldn’t let her do that all by herself so I asked if she wanted to bring her Sisters round to help. Lovely ladies, the lot of them, once they’d done the bedrooms they wanted to do the whole house. Who was I to stop their good works?

That was a lot of years ago. Since then I’ve become the she-hermit you read before you. But I miss my old Mormon friends. So do my carpets, my oven, and my overgrown hedges. 


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  1. I must say that I can, under no circumstances, condone the mistreatment of any members of an organized religion…(even a silly, made up one)… or sanction a situation in which they are misled into doing productive household chores while the prospect of perhaps converting one of the heathen is dangled before them like raw meat before hyenas. Because this is just wrong.


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