A missionary showed up at my door the other day, complete with brochures and homely outfit. I think she was a Jehovah's Witness, maybe a Seventh Day Adventist. (Someone really needs to come up with a field guide for missionaries.)
Let me just state for the record I'm not overly fond of missionaries. I get the idea behind it: go forth and spread the good news, go tell it on the mountain, if we have to dress in these dowdy outfits everyone else should, too. It's not the religious fervor I object too, it's them telling me I'm wrong I have a problem with. Not only that I'm wrong, but I'm too stupid to know it.
And the pamphlets. I hate the sad pamphlets. Do these people know nothing about marketing?
When My Missionary came to the door, perhaps the dogs might have accidentally got out. Now, if you know anything about our dogs (two good natured if slightly spastic labs), you'd know this is no big deal. Unless you don't like to be slobbered on or covered in dog hair. White dog hair. And you're wearing a long black skirt, black tights, and a black coat. And you're a timid missionary who doesn't know our dogs would sooner learn to play the violin than bite anyone. So they accidentally got out. And in the confusion of getting them back in the house, I just didn't get a chance to discuss if I was wrong or stupid or going to hell with My Friendly Missionary.
But then she played the pamphlet card. Now I ask you, when in all the history of missionary-hood, as a poorly illustrated pamphlet sealed the deal? I, however, went to Catholic school and I know a false prophet when I see one. Now, if she'd invited me to a Sausage Fest with a Beer Garden, that would have been a different story.