And that is why I respect the beliefs of the folks from a certain religious organization that come to my door once a month to chat me up a bit. I don't say, "I'm not interested," and slam the door in their faces--they are people with feelings, after all. But I don't bring them to believe that I am going to join them any time soon, either. Jay thinks I'm giving them false hope. I don't know. But I do know that I can count on a visit from them monthly. Like clockwork.
Yesterday was visit day. I was tired from being kept up the night before by Jay shouting at the TV while he was watching the Celtics game. And I was looking about as crappy as I was feeling. The most interaction I wanted was with the electronic voice in the do-it-yourself checkout lane at the grocery store. So, when I saw my guests' car pull into our driveway as I was finishing yesterday's blog post, I tiptoed over to the door, made sure it was locked and then just stood there, barely breathing. I was paranoid that the woman (who happens to be a very kind and lovely person) was getting a vibe that I was only mere feet away from her with only inches of wall separating us. So I got down on my hands and knees and crawled into the kitchen and sat on the floor in the corner against the cabinets. I'm not sure why I felt the need to crawl--there was no way anybody could see me from our door or our driveway. It did give me a sense of adventure, though. Kind of like I was Julia Roberts in that movie, "Sleeping with the Enemy," but with a total lack of violence, mean people, and OCD.
|My covert hiding spot. Remind me to clean under the stove the next time I wash the floors.|
The doorbell eventually rang followed by a knock, and Pippet went through her usual spazzy barking, grunting, whining, groaning, and jumping. Then she got really confused because I wasn't getting up from my comfy spot on the floor and going to answer the door. So she stood there staring at me with her head tilted, totally mute. I was afraid the woman would figure out somebody was in the house because the dog was suddenly quiet, so I prodded Pippet to "go get 'em." She did some more barking and eventually my visitors left, providing me with some literature tucked behind the doorknob. And I was free to continue being my unsocial self.
And here's the clincher: The last two summers have brought about an increase in door-to-door sales in my neighborhood. From new internet/cable/phone service sales people to college students selling magazines and textbooks, I can depend on at least a few visits over the next two months. I feel bad saying "no" to these people, but I really have no interest in what they're selling. Between sales people and my monthly house call from the holy world, I think I might be spending lots of time in my little corner. I could even make it more appealing: