By Heather O.
That way, when the sister missionaries come tracting to your home, you won’t be embarrassed at being caught in your bathrobe, wet hair up in a towel, fresh out of the shower, lugging a big basket of laundry up the stairs. At 12:30 in the afternoon.
Normally, of course, I would just have kept trucking up the stairs, but my dog was on the landing, and I had to stop to nudge her out of the way. She got up, wagged her tail, and put her face over the top of the pile of laundry, looking at me with those big, brown, gorgeous labrador eyes. I couldn’t help but lean down and poke my nose into hers, just to get a quick lick on the face. It was during this dog love fest when I happened to look up at see, out my window, the sister missionaries walking out of my yard, laughing all the way. I rushed up the stairs, got dressed with lightening speed, and went outside under the ruse of picking something up that I’d left on my porch.
“Hey, sisters! Whatcha doin’?” I called a little too brightly, which, in retrospect, is like, the dumbest question ever to ask a missionary. What did I think they were doing–selling Girl Scout Cookies? (Mm…Girl Scout Cookies….insert Homer Simpson like drooling sound here…)
Anyway, they said, “We’re just doin’ some tracting in the neighborhood.”
Tracting, huh? Well, they hadn’t actually knocked on my door, which meant one of two things: 1) They were actually with-it kind of sisters who knew that a member already lived there and therefore didn’t want to waste anybody’s time, or 2) They had endeavored to knock on my door, had seen me smooching my dog in my grungy old bathrobe and turban-like hair, and decided I wasn’t quite fit for human company at that particular moment.
I vote for number 2. And since that particular moment happened to be well after noon…well, let’s just say that I doubt the sisters were all that impressed.
The sad part is that I actually had to go out with them later that evening to visit another sister in the ward. They were totally professional, cool as cucumbers, and the meeting went off without a hitch. But somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to ask, “So, um, this afternoon, did you actually see me in my bathrobe looking rather ridiculous, or were the smiles on your faces just reflections of the glow of being God’s servants?”
Maybe some things are just better left unsaid.
Update: Per Danithew’s request, here’s a picture of my dog:
WordPress database error: [Can't open file: 'wp_comments.MYI' (errno: 144)]
SELECT * FROM wp_comments WHERE comment_post_ID = '649' AND comment_approved = '1' ORDER BY comment_date