Today while picking up a prescription for Ken Cannon, I saw a missionary standing in line with seriously bandaged fingers. Like, they were mummy fingers with big steel rods poking out and so forth.
ME: Elder! What happened?
ELDER: I had a run-in with a snow blower.
ME: Was it a service project?
ME: That'll teach you to serve your fellow man again.
ME: I'll bet your mom is worried about you.
ELDER: She doesn't know.
ME: Good man.
I thoroughly subscribe to the philosophy that missionaries should communicate bad news to mothers on a need-to-know basis. And who needs to know anyway when you're here and your kid is someplace where you can't do a damn thing for her or him anyway?
Words to live by, people.