"Oh girls, nevermind. Sorry to be rude, but nevermind."
"I would appreciate it if you would stop pounding on my door."
"We aren't Mormon and we're never going to be. Don't come back."
Each of these sentences were punctuated with a slammed door. Me on one side, the speaker on the other. Leaving neither of us confused as to why.
As a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I have a defining feature that is easily recognizable. My badge.
My badge bears my name, and the name of the church; it represents the most important parts of my life -- my family and my Savior.
And it gives everyone around me permission to scoff, scorn, and ignore me.
Wait, what?
I haven't quite figured that one out yet.
