Missionaries are an interesting breed. They're young and cute and enthusiastic and all. Some of them have more manners than others. Some are more outgoing than others. Some are born under the covenant and some are not. Some have a lot of knowledge, some do not. Some are on their missions because they love the Gospel and some come because their mother/bishop/cousin told them to. Some - punk from Down Under who makes me want to scream - have no manners and are jerks. Some do not get the Star Wars movie references and some do get the random Mystery Men reference.
They all love to eat however. Dinner is the one thing they have in common.
And because Tarzan and I aren't masochistic enough, we had all eight of them over for dinner tonight.
Yes. We're crazy to try and fit nine grown men, two women, a pasta casserole and an apple crisp into 600 square feet.
But we did.
And it seemed to work out well enough. Bishop Tarzan put them through their paces scripturally, ATL teased them and I encouraged them all to eat more vegetables for their mothers' peace of mind.
All in all, a successful dinner party.
The only kind we have...
This is me and no one got tomato sauce on their white shirt. Bonus!