Sunday, February 19, 2012

Purple Nurple Missionaries

If my husband had not served a Mormon mission I would not have married him.

I was vigorously convinced by my mother from a young age to settle for nothing less than a returned Mormon missionary for my Eternal Companion.

I never went on dates with boys who were not Mormon.  What was the point?  If they had not served a mission I wouldn't want to marry them.  And if I didn't want to marry them I wasn't gonna waste a perfectly good Saturday night on a non-pre-post-missionary man child.

When I first met my own personal man I almost dismissed him for his wild looks and the tough chip he carried on his enormous shoulders.  But then he said,

"I served my mission in Virginia."

He had my attention.

Oh BABY!  Say more of THAT!  OOOOO yeah!

I was turned on.  Turned on to this naughty tattooed boy of God.  He surprised me.  I like surprises.  Sexy ones with muscles, especially.

So I married that post mission man child.

Does it seem shallow and closed minded to you that I would not consider a young man who had not gone on a mission?

I've heard it before.

There was an enormous black football player at BYU that was always asking me out.  We were friends.  He had not served a mission and had no plans to do so.  I kindly declined his offer for a date every time he asked anew. 

"You're prejudiced!" he accused one day.

"Why?  Because you're BLACK?  That's stupid.  I don't care what color you are!"

"No.  You're prejudiced because I'm no missionary."

"Oh... hmmm.  Yeah.  I guess I am.  Sorry.  I know what I want. I want a missionary, man."

And that was that.

I wanted a Missionary Man!

Mormon missionaries are special.  I have always known that.  19 year old boys who don't have sex, don't drink, don't do drugs, don't even drink coffee or say too many bad words are IMPOSSIBLE to come by in The World.

Unless you are in MY world.  My World which is chock full of them.

I wanted to bag me a clean, service oriented Man of God that would marry me have my babies.  Or vice versa.  Whatever.

I got me one of those.  AND HOW!

Today my family and I spent the day in Phoenix celebrating the baptism and 8th birthday of Miss Italia Bleu. 

Bleu's daddy was one of my husband's mission companions.

This is Bleu after having consumed red soda, copious amounts of hot tamales and mounds of delicious rainbow cake, hence the red teeth.  It's a good look for her, I think.  Organic.

I'm sure you see those Mormon dudes walking around with name tags and suits.  Sometimes they ride bikes and people throw hamburgers and F bombs at them. They always come in pairs.  Themz is the rules. 

The Mish goes walking two by two HOORAH HOORAH!... You know that song, right?

Mr. Pistol and two mission companions of his youth hung out today.

I tried to get them to take a respectable photo for you all to see.  I wanted you to understand clearly what good men of God who served honorable Mormon missions look like.


I begged them to settle down and show their serious, religious, reverent sides.

None of them listened to me.  Instead there was a great deal of pushing, shoving, nipple pinching and groin punching (?) resulting in an every man for himself photo opp.  It seems they became quite mistrustful of one another.  And extremely protective of the family junk.

This is what quality returned Mormon missionaries look like.  Apparently. 

As the Mish Men wrestled like children I ate enough candy to kill a whore.

I started with peanut M&Ms.

Worked my way to the candy bar...

And finally made myself completely sick with monstrous slice of Bleu's 100 tiered rainbow cake.

The kids got all sugared up as well.

Here you see them pooling their efforts to run each other over with a golf cart.  It was great fun.  A smashing success!

It warmed my heart to watch my children play with the children of Mr. Pistol's mission companions. 

I was especially touched when one of them threw up on the Jumpy jumper thingy and another promptly slid into said vomit.  THAT is closeness, my friends.

My girls introduced their affinity for fake handlebar mustaches to the troops.  Soon there were children of all ages running amok with homemade staches.

That was my day today.

I married me a Mormon missionary on purpose.  I knew a boy who donated two years of life to the Lord would be an exemplary example of commitment, sacrifice, perseverance, selflessness and Love.

What I didn't know is how much fun it would be.