Knock Knock

I think I've mentioned that since my children are grown and gone, I usually don't answer the door when the bell rings, except when I'm expecting someone. Years of magazine salesmen, Jehovah's Witnesses and people asking me if I'd sell them my house have taught me it's a waste of time to jump up and open the door unless I can actually hear the Good Humor man going by.

In this day and age of cell phones I figure if you know me you'll do the courteous thing and call to see if I'm home -- most likely from the comfort of your car in my driveway. Especially if you've just been out driving around and want to raid my fridge or use the toilet.

Then I can do one of three things -- pretend I'm somewhere else, tell you to go away or, if Law and Order is over, invite you in. Once I tried to pretend I was somewhere else and the person in my driveway pointed out that they'd called my land line. I still tried to pretend I was somewhere else.

This morning the doorbell rang at 9:00 AM. Twice. Then there was the follow up knock at the door. Two more times. Like their impatience is going to make me move faster. Or move at all.

Do these people think I'm in my house just waiting for them to stop by?  For crissakes I was in the bathroom on the throne stark naked. So, I said, hmmmm, I wonder who that could be?  The Prize Patrol with a check for ten million dollars?  Probably a meter reader.

That was three hours ago. I've been working ever since and haven't even checked to see if Ed McMahon is still waiting outside.

There was a time when I would have stopped in the middle of my naked pee, jumped into the nearest pair of anything that would cover my body and run like mad to answer the door. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And often, damp.

One time the whole doorbell ringing, knock-knock-knocking thing happened on a Saturday morning when I was still in bed. Naked.  Do you see a pattern here?  It took me a good ten to fifteen minutes to finally get myself to the door. Whoever it was wasn't going away. I peeked out through the window and saw a squad car idling out front. When I finally opened the door, the cop actually wanted to know what took me so long. Like I was flushing things down the toilet.

"I was indisposed, officer."  He looked at me funny. I guess "indisposed" isn't in the handbook. "I was still in bed and I didn't have any clothes on." I was this close to saying, "Asshole."  Sorry, I didn't know you would be pounding on my door at the crack of dawn or I would have had the coffee on, handcuff breath. Considering recent wellness check events I wonder if that little encounter didn't put a black mark on my permanent record.

Somebody had left a bike on my parkway and Officer Friendly wanted to know if it belonged to us. Sounds like an emergency to me.

No. That bike is not ours. I thought that whatever neighborhood kid owned it would realize he was walking, not riding and come back for it. But thanks for being so vigilant. This early in the morning.

Okay, it's noon. Time to get dressed.