Hooded strangers, the grim reaper, and why we all should probably just be put down…
There’s a little known fact that I tend to keep from people about myself and my husband, and that is that we don’t really answer our door much. We live out in the middle of nowhere and pretty much NEVER get people knocking on our door. So, we figure if someone comes knocking that we didn’t expect, it’s probably nobody that we know – and quite possibly someone that has no business being in our home. We’re a total buzz-kill for door to door salesmen, I’m sure.
That, and half the time I’m wearing either no pants or … well, in some other way not really dressed for company. –Which has little to do with erotic fantasies and everything to do with my distaste for doing laundry. (Wear less, wash less. Plus, it makes my clothes last longer, right?)
But then, a few days ago, someone parked in our driveway and walked right up to the door and….knocked. I know *GASP* THE AUDACITY! Steven, apparently thinking it was a mass murderer zoned in on our home during broad daylight ran for the bedroom (where I was sitting in a towel because I’d just gotten out of the shower – because this is how my timing ALWAYS works) and collected his gun. He stuffed it down the back of his pants and proceeded to one of the front windows to spy through the cheap plastic mini blinds.
I thought he was going to answer the door.
I began frantically getting dressed, replaying our bills through my head. I was pretty sure we’d paid them all so SURELY nobody was here to collect or turn off something. Hmm.
Then it hit me. What if they brought us food? We can’t not let them in if they bring food or presents! I peer through the blinds as I struggle to get the shirt over belly monster. As far as I could tell there was no cake…unless like Steven, he was keen to stuffing things down the back of his pants – and while I understood the weapon, I just couldn’t imagine collecting food from someone else’s pants. I mean, I don’t know him THAT well.
There was another knock at the door. I hissed a few words at Steven, something to the effect of WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF? YOU HAVE A GUN!” and continued to try to get pants up over my butt (which is a task all in itself these days…not to mention with only one hand!)
“I THINK IT’S ONE OF THE MASON-GUYS” he whispered back. “WHAT, DO YOU THINK THEY’RE HERE TO COLLECT YOUR HEAD FOR NOT PAYING DUES?” I mean, sure…we’d kind of slacked on the dues but we DID have a good reason. “I DON”T REALLY THINK SO. HE’S NOT WEARING AN APRON OR A FUNNY SHEEP HEAD.”
I don’t know exactly what a free-mason would wear to come make collections, or if they’d prefer toes over heads for their stash, but I could imagine a sheep head and apron would make the perfect attire. Or, that’s what I think I would wear, at least.
“JUST OPEN THE DOOR! SEE WHAT HE WANTS!” I whispered to Steven. “WAIT. ON SECOND THOUGHT, DON’T. IT COULD BE CHILD SERVICES!”
Steven stopped peering through the blinds for a moment to look at me. “YOU CALLED CHILD SERVICES?”
Yeh. Sometimes I get bored and prank call them. Um, obviously NO I DIDN’T CALL THEM but he’s not wearing a sheep head or bringing food, who else could it possibly be?
UPDATE: He finally left our house and went to the other houses in our neighborhood. I’ve surmised that he was most likely a secret undercover agent and was interrogating our neighbors. At first, I figured he was the grim reaper, but everyone seems to still be alive, so that CLEARLY can’t be it.