Late Wednesday afternoon, lounging in the backyard with the guy and the offspring, when two young women, both sporting sunglasses, approach the yard. The males chitchat with them a bit while I finish scrubbing down the grill.
I realize they aren't classmates of the teen aged offspring when I notice they are both sporting long denim dresses on this hot afternoon, and I hear my son say, "You're from Germany? I'm surprised, because Martin Luther...", and even HE knows that's not flirting. The boyfriend wanders over with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. "Mormons. The kid's got it covered."
After a lengthy discussion, my son comes back with a pamphlet and a shit eating grin. "Just tell me you were respectful," is all I say-for a bit.
"Actually," I muse aloud, "you could have a party, and invite the ruffians from your school, who would bring drugs and alcohol, and we could introduce those girls to bikini underwear-it's awfully hot for them to have to wear their traditional undergarments. It's too bad they're not Amish, because then we could put zippers on EVERYTHING-the door, the potato chip bags, the toilet seats, and they would have to walk around like zombies and say things like, 'Prithee, open this Doritos bag, for it is ungodly closed, and I must have some of the delectably goodness,' or, 'Thine outhouse is a work of the Devil,'
...that's when the boyfriend gave me a wedgie to shut me up and I started chasing him around the yard with a pair of tongs, and I lost my train of thought, and my son sank into a lawnchair with the deepest expression of mortification possible.
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