Wide Open Spaces

The husband and I recently moved into a new home. The neighborhood is brand new. Actually parts of it are still being built. Because the neighborhood is new tons of solicitors come door to door selling all sorts of things.

We have had numerous Brinks Security system people come to the door. Along with people selling window coverings, realtors trying to sell your house that you’ve only lived in for a matter of months, Jehovah Witness… anything you can think of I’ve seen them and had to talk to them within weeks of moving in.

And it’s always an inconvenience. The conversation is always a battle. Sure it starts out nice. Mr. Solicitor politely greets you as Ma’am and asks how your day is going. You automatically say good, thank you (while in your head thinking it was good until you came knocking on my door). Then it starts.

Well I work for *blabbity blah* (because who cares who they work for or what nifty thing they have to sell, I don’t want it) and do you have a security system? Because you never can be too careful these days and I am selling mine for 500 million dollars, which is a really good deal and if you sign up now I can give you free installation and then we will put this dandy sign in your patio saying you have security and then you will never ever have to worry about your property being vandalized or someone trying to break into your home because….

And I’m stuck. Because it’s rude to interrupt no matter how badly I want to. And I can’t get a word in edge wise and I know I’m starting to have a glazed over look creep across my face but it’s all I can do to keep from slamming the door in Mr. Solicitors face.

Ugh. This is why I don’t answer the door.

However, the husband likes to keep the front door open to get a breeze and because he “needs fresh air”. With a roll of my eyes I agree to prop the front door open. It just so happened that one day, our front door was wide open. I was grading papers on the floor in the living room and the husband was fiddling around doing something or other in the kitchen.

All of a sudden the husband ducks behind the island. I’m talking secret agent, pouncing to the ground, tumbling out of harms way just in the knick of time.



I start laughing because I think he’s a retard and I can’t imagine why he is ducking behind the island in the kitchen. Until I hear the “hello?” at the front door.

Yes, that’s right. The husband completely ducked in the kitchen and left me to deal with the solicitor now standing at our wide opened front door. How thoughtful of him.

I no longer agree to keep the front door open to get a breeze. Or fresh air.