He used to be a Mormon

Kellie, recovering nicely

It had been over five weeks since our Caribbean cruise and Kellie was suffering from severe vacation withdrawal, so I stuffed her in the car and speed off to Palm Springs for a medicinal vacation. 

At our hotel there was a large group of swingers who put on an afternoon, poolside show. We missed some of the best performances because the day before we arrived management had asked the troupe to keep their displays G-rated. The free outdoor entertainment was great but the free in-room coffee forced us to make daily trips to Starbucks.
 
On our first coffee run, Kellie struck up a conversation with two men from Arizona. If there is such a thing as gaydar, either I don’t have one or mine is broken, but when one of the men mentioned that they were married to each other, that’s a clue that even I don’t usually miss. So when the discussion moved on to children, Kellie, who likes to get right to the heart of the matter, asked the obvious question: “So, who do kids share DNA with?” Randy, the gentleman seated nearest to me, explained that the children were his partner's biological offspring. As he explained it, they were the result of a mistake a few years back when his partner was undergoing therapy. Then, in a slightly hushed voice, Randy added that his partner used to be a Mormon. 

Initially, I was a somewhat confused by Randy’s remark and I wondered what combination of Mormon, gay and therapy produces children? After a few minutes of intense contemplation I surmised a rational explanation for these apparently discordant bits of information. I imagined that a young man, coerced by his devout Mormon parents to endure years of pointless psychotherapy in a ridiculous attempt to cure his homosexuality, had an affair with his therapist and begat two children. Then, finally realizing that he didn't need to be cured of anything, he defies his parents, renounces his faith and comes out to live his life as a gay man. Yeah, it could have happened like that.

A little while later, back at the hotel, Kellie asked me if I caught that one of the men used to be woman. “A woman?” I repeated, once aloud and then several more times in my head. “Oh, I thought he said he used to be a Mormon.” I guess that accounts for the kids, too, if you prefer simple explanations. Damn you, Occam.

This was not the first time that I've misunderstood someone, but it's usually song lyrics that I get wrong. For me, Kurt Cobain remains eternally indecipherable. I thought Huey Lewis wanted a new truck instead of a new drug, and I swore it was Billie Jean's screaming glands, not her schemes and plans that led her to accuse Michael Jackson of fathering her child.

I should probably get my hearing checked.

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