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–
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.