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I was out on my deck this afternoon, enjoying the unseasonably cool (68 degree) July breeze nicely scented with salt sea air, petting my all black cat Iggy, when I was visited by one of those representatives of a fundamental religion (don't need to mention the name, but the initials are JW). She was so freaking perky it should have been illegal. I was in a good mood, which explains my failure to run her off with scathing sarcasm and rudeness. She asked me if she could leave me a copy of her church's newsletter, I said no. She asked me if I would be interested in attending service at her church, I said no. She asked me if I knew Jesus. Not personally, no. A couple of Hispanic guys with the same name, yes, but if she was talking about the great prophet Yeshu ben Yosef I was sure I knew more about his teachings than she did. The young missionary was getting exasperated. She asked if I considered myself a good Christian. "No, dear, I don't," I answered. "But I do consider myself a good witch."

I have never seen anyone book it out of my yard so fast.

Uhura :o)
Still chuckling
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