Yesterday at Ariah’s party, our Mexican neighbors showed up. We’d recently been at a birthday party for their little boy, and like all Mexicans, parties are their forte. So as soon as I saw them, I scrambled extra hard to make sure that the food and atmosphere were excellent, because I had to prove that, unlike most Americans, we can, in fact, throw a Mexian-worthy party. None of this store-bought cake and vanilla ice cream nonsense. Music was something I hadn’t thought of, but I knew Mexicans would have it, so we had to have it. I turned on the stereo system and played whatever was in it. It was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. It wasn’t your typical party music, but it was nevertheless nice ambiance. Then Teresa turned it off, embarrassed that I had the audacity to play something so unfitting for a birthday party. I insisted that the party needed music, whether or not it was the MoTab, and I turned it back on. Soon my mother-inlaw also turned it off on the grounds that it was entirely inappropriate. So we suffered an un-musical party, and the Mexicans defeated us. To this day I am deeply shamed. How silly we Mormons are. I think it was an omen about the spiritual compartmentalization of our lives.