A One-Sided Conversation

It's a spectacularly bad idea, you know.

Not because we don't like each other, because that's not the case. We like each other plenty.

Hell, you're a great guy. You smile a lot, get my Monty Python jokes, don't drink or do drugs, and dance exceedingly well. You're quirky and hard-working.

I'm sure you've got a whole list of things you admire in me, too. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this "conversation."

I'm equally sure you've got a whole list of things you want to change in me, too.

That's where we've got our problem.

I'm not a bad person - I'm actually considered extremely morally upright. I work hard, I don't drink, or cheat, or do drugs, and I make a point of trying to send out only good things into the world.

But I'm not Mormon, not even Christian, so you consider me amoral, even immoral, and you'd find it to be your duty to try to "show me the light," or some such silly thing.

My idea of fun does not include being told I'm going to a hell I don't believe in.

I'll resent your attempts to "save" me, and you'll resent my refusal to change. I'll be an embarrassment to you because of my "heathen" ways. You'll begin to feel as though your family is judging you for being with me.

Don't try to tell me that their approval (your family's, your church's, and your God's) is not more important to you than I am. Neither they nor I applaud dishonesty.

And all this strife is even before we bring up the ways that I would inevitably, if unintentionally, attempt to change you.