Polygamy Pasta (or, something funny happened on the way to the art gallery).

Man: Wow, you’ve got a lot of kids!

Me *suppressing the “I haven’t heard this one before” look*: Yep.

Man: Are they all yours??

Me *Suppressing harder*: Yep.

Man: Are you a Mormon?

Me *actually surprised this time*: Yeah!

Man: Are you from the Midwest?

Me: Yeah! (Former beehive in the Nauvoo Stake. Heck yes I’m midwestern!)

Man: So you’re from Utah?

Me *Disappointed with man’s abysmal geography*: Nope.

Man *disppointed with my lack of authentic Mormonness*: Oh. I have some friends who are Mormons. They all live out on a nice commune in Missourah. They go to Florida every winter. Why do you go to Florida every winter?

Me: We don’t.

Man *a little more disappointed*: Oh. Anyway, they brought me some great pasta back from their commune in Florida.

Me: Oh. OK.

Man: So you’re a polyga–

Me: No.

Man *Disappointed*: Oh. OK.

And that’s when we parted ways, me to teach the children about Greco-Roman civilization at Fancypants University Art Gallery, and the man, a little bewildered, to presumably go home and eat Polygamy Pasta.

 

The End.

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