Knock, and it may or may not be opened unto you

So I'm in the middle of my day. Savannah is watching Dora and Boots rescue things from Swiper. I am doing laundry. I am also deep in the slums of frump, which means unwashed hair in a ponytail, a sad T-shirt and yoga pants, no makeup.

The doorbell rings. We freeze. Then I rush over to peer out the peephole. I don't recognize the person. I turn to shush Savannah while simultaneously cranking down the volume on Dora. We wait with bated breath, peeking every few seconds, until the person, who undoubtedly heard the TV blaring long before our stealthy volume-lowering move, turns to leave.

Ok. Please tell me I'm not the only one to do this.

Reason #1 that I hate answering the door is because, well, I don't usually know who the person is. If it's the UPS guy, ok, then fine. If not, then they are either there to sell me something or give me a political spiel. All of which I can do without. Then there is the outside chance that they are there to break into my house, which actually did happen to me once, but which will have to wait for a future post.

Reason #2 - well, I mentioned the word frump, right? That should say it all. Nobody should be subjected to this kind of visual persecution.

But a few evenings ago, I was outside watering my tiny garden. My garden is on the south side of my house, and anyone standing in the front has a good view of the back. So I'm minding my own business, when a guy rounds the corner and heads to the front door. He saw me right away, so it wasn't like I could throw down the hose and act like I wasn't there. We have a concrete wall and a gate between the front and back, so he made himself at home and leaned over the wall. He was a bold little dude, too; he launched right into his memorized speech without so much as a "how you doin'?" I listened for a few seconds before I realized that it was political in nature. And he was definitely, without question, light years away from my viewpoint.

He was trying to get signatures to send something or other to Congress. He wound down his talk, and thrust the clipboard at me, saying, "So....just sign here."

I asked him a very simple question regarding where the proposed funding that he was talking about was going to come from, and he just flew off the handle. Which made me mad. I mean, he came into my yard, so one would think that I have the right to see what it's all about before blindly signing away. But I was also a little amused, because the poor guy was far from well-versed in what he was expressing. He stumbled over himself and had no clue where he was going with it; I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

So he ranted and raved and basically told me what he thought of my position. At which point I decided that the flowers just a foot or two to his left really, really needed watering. So, sweet as could be, I just swung the hose in that direction. And the over spray from the hose may or may not have reached through the gate. And it's possible that my uninvited guest got a cooling down that he desperately needed. But I'm not admitting to anything.

See? This is why I don't answer my door.