It all started Sunday when Michael said that we were having the missionaries over for dinner on Tuesday. We found out that they usually come at 5, and Michael doesn't get home until 5:45, so we needed to find them to make sure they set their appointments accordingly. We looked for them after sacrament and they were busy and then we got sucked into the social blackhole we call primary, and we didn't see them again. We figured they would call. Monday came and went, and no call. Tuesday, still no call. I get a call from Michael on his way home from work saying that the misisonaries weren't coming over that night. Really, I asked. Yes, he said, they are coming over tomorrow night. Why? I asked. He said, because that's the date he wrote on his calendar and he just read it wrong. I said that it was probably better because we had time to tell them to come at six. Well, that night they didn't call. Wednesday they called Michael, but it was too late. They had too many appointments and couldn't come at six. Michael said a missionary should never go without food, so he offered for them to pick up some food and take it home. So, I cooked dinner, put it on plates, opened the door for them that night, participated in some missionary small talk (they couldn't come in because Michael wasn't home) and sent them on their way. Before they left, I told them they could keep the plates. They gave me a wierd look and walked down the stairs. The thing about these plates is that we have been meaning to take them to Good Will. We don't want them anymore. We keep forgetting them when we go so they keep sitting in a box. Once in a while we have a church party to go to and one of them gets let out of the box. Knowing me, Michael decides to use the plates we don't want, because I will forget I brought a plate, and we will slowly lose the plates we actually like. True to form, I did forget the plates. So, whether we influence people here in Arizona or not, at least we left a red and white striped plate trail wherever we went.