Mormons showed up at the house yesterday. They did not look old enough to shave.

I opened the door a crack, restraining the frantic beagle, read their LDS nametags, and said "Thanks but if this is a Mormon thing, I’m not interested."

They said "Okay!" cheerfully, and turned to go. I shut the door.

And then my conscience twinged, probably because they appeared to be so damn young, and I opened it up again and said "Look–you’re out on a really hot day, do you need water or anything?" (Not adding "And you’re wearing long-sleeved shirts and long pants and ties, you poor sods.")

They thanked me and said they were fine, but by then the beagle was out and leaping for their shins. I apologized and rescued him (not before he left faint beagle prints on immaculately pressed trousers.)

"Is that a beagle?" asked one.

"Yes."

"I love beagles!"

"You want one?" I hoisted Gir bodily and began hauling him inside while he whined because there were PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE NEW PEOPLE and he hadn’t sniffed them yet!

"Free beagle? Mmm….nah."

"Darn."

I would’ve totally listened to their spiel if they took the beagle at the end, then. "Moroni, you say? Fascinating. Here, here’s his leash for walkies, and he has a corn allergy."