How old do those Mormon boys think I look?

Perhaps this was one of those times where you just had to be there . . . but I'll try to do justice to the amusingly ironic interaction I had last Friday night...
First, a little background: My friend Rachel went to Hawaii and asked Jody (my roommate) to check her mail and keep an eye on her house while she was gone. She gave Jody her house key. . . so of course Rachel would be utterly disappointed if she returned to find everything just as she had left it.
Anyhow, Friday (Rachel's return date) rolled around and we still hadn't played any pranks, so we headed over to her place around 6 p.m. We began littering her living room and kitchen with beer cans, swapping the drawers in her dresser and turning all of her books backwards on the shelf. Nothing too mean. We tried to work quickly, because we weren't sure when she was getting home. As we ripped the labels off her canned food items (*we were nice and labeled them "mystery soup" or "mystery vegetable" with a Sharpie*), the doorbell rang. We shrieked, certain that we were about to be caught red-handed. I, being the daring soul that I am, opened the front door . . .
To my surprise, it was not Rachel standing at the other side. Instead, two suit-clad young men with "Latter Day Saints" nametags smiled back at me. They seemed a bit caught off guard. (Maybe they heard the scream?) They glanced at each other and then back at me before saying, "Uhh, hi... are your parents home?" (Do I really look like a 12-year-old?)
I smiled. "Nooo . . . actually, I don't even live here. And the girl who does isn't here."
"Oh, so you're just hanging out here for the weekend?"
"Well, no, but . . . we're, uhh . . . we're just taking care of her house for her." (Fortunately, they couldn't see into the kitchen, where Jody continued de-labeling cans.)
"OK, well, is there anything we can do for you tonight?"
"Nope. I don't think so." (I now realize that I missed a prime opportunity here. It would have made a much better story if I'd invited the Mormon boys to come in and help arrange the beer cans. Bummer.)
Anyhow, that's pretty much the end of my story. Yeah, I really think you had to be there. (I have to admit, I'm a little offended that those guys didn't try harder to save my soul. I've never heard of getting rid of door-to-door proselytizers that easily. I think they were embarressed.)