Back on the strip mall, this time in a Mexican restaurant, and there is a rowdy group of women on the adjacent table. They are taking photos of each other on an i-phone. I offer to take one of the group. They are three sisters and a mother. The phone has a gold sequined case.
They get up from the table and stand in line. The mother, with grey hair, is unwilling but coaxed into it by her daughters. They are blonde. I take several photographs and then ask for a middle name in return.
'Ours is an interesting story', says the eldest daughter. 'There are seven of us and all our middle names begin with the same initial'. She gives me the list. It also features a Lloyd and a Lynette. 'How am I going to remember all of those?', I ask. 'You're not', she replies. She is right. I concentrate on the three in front of me. The youngest daughter complains that she got landed with the worst.
The mother tells us that their father wanted all his children to have the same initials as himself. As a result all of their first names begin with 'R' and their middle names with 'L'. 'He was a rancher', she says by way of explanation.
'They're Mormons', says the eldest pointing at her mother and middle sister whose dress has a high neckline. 'I bet you've never met one of those before'. I ask why she isn't. 'I ran', she says in a hushed tone, demonstrating the action with a gesture. The others begin to leave. She comes back to our table. 'Seriously', she says, 'it's crazy'. I nod. 'As soon as I was twenty-one, I just ran', she repeats. Leaving our table, she returns once more. 'Even if you're a Republican don't vote for Mick Romney', she says. I tell her I won't.
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