Living in a Mormon household is, shall we say, interesting. Tonight, three missionaries stopped by unexpectedly, and they perked up considerably upon finding fresh meat in the house to prosyletize. At some point or another one of them asked, jokingly, if Presbyterians prayed. I bit my tongue on a “no, God talks to us personally.” I would have dearly loved to see their reaction. They are invited to Saturday night dinner, which is a shame as I will miss the chance to needle them.

Ah, well. Montana, here I come.