You know, I don’t mind solicitors. Often I offer them a seat in my kitchen and a cup of Joe, while we chat about the wonders of the product they are selling. In the off occasion I even accidentally flash the poor creature…
The point is I indulge them, sometimes I even consider the thought of purchase- Although my husband always kyboshes that notion in a hurry.
What I cannot tolerate is solicitors that slink around to my home at 9 pm at night, shortly after my over active kids have finally settled in their respected sleeping areas and ding dong on the damn door!
I run to the front entrance in a mad dash, hoping that the inconsiderate asshole on the other side does not decide to chime again, which more than likely will rouse the babes from their bedrooms.
She does, and they do…Rouse that is.
As I open my burgundy front door, I realize that the scowl that rests upon my furrowed forehead is one of pure loathing. The children join me, one on each side as my husband sits at the top of the stairs of the entry way. It would have been lovely if he had the notion to grab the kids and put them back to bed…He didn’t, I will deal with it after I shoo away this new problem.
The woman begins immediately, she speaks with this frantic tone that is irritating and making me feel all weird inside. I don’t like it, and I don’t think I like her either. Maybe I’m biased because she has already pissed me off to a point beyond return.
I’m looking at her, she is talking, but I do not comprehend anything she is saying. Nothing. I can assume it is some sort of sob story, either that, or miracle drug that will cure me of anything that ales me.
I quickly come to the conclusion that this woman must be blind. She is looking into my eyes, whilst spewing her spiel, she can see that I am giving her the death glare to end all death glares and furthermore I am attempting to shut the door on her and she continues to inch her plump body in-between the doorjamb.
Lars has now piped up, asking me who the lady is. Why is she talking to us? What does she want?
It is none of these questions that grab my attention. It is my 3 year old daughter that says, “Mama, why this lady come here so late?”
See! This small child, whom doesn’t even know how to tie her own shoe, can grasp the concept that soliciting to people’s homes at 9 O’clock at night is not okay. Why can’t you!?
Finally once I am given the chance to get a word in, I explain to the woman that it is much too late for her to be knocking on doors and there is no way I would purchase anything from her simply because of her impertinent entrance into my life.
‘I’ve known you for about 3 minutes and I already dislike you…You should look into a new field of work in which you don’t have to be seen by the public eye!’ I don’t say that, but I really want to.
She gives me a glare that is quite similar to the one I have been giving her for the last 5 minutes, turns on her heel and waddles away.
In any other instance I would have a slight feeling of guilt wriggle its way into my psyche. Not now, not today. Today I feel victorious…
A tip to any solicitors out there…If it looks like a family home, if it smells like a family home, if there is little blue and pink tricycles on the front stoop in which you must wrangle your fat ass over to get to the door; IT IS A FAMILY HOME.
And the worst blunder you could ever carry out is screw with a tired Mom once her kids are in bed!