The following is a true story. The pictures are dramatizations of actual events. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent because I want them gone.
Hey! You! You, in the white car, stop looking in my window and banging on my door not once, not twice, not three times, not four times, not five times, but SIX times in the last 24 hours!
And what's the big idea ringing the doorbell at nine o'freakin clock tonight? What is wrong with you? I don't want what you're selling (unless you're Ed McMahon here to tell me I won the million dollar publisher's clearing house sweepstakes. Oh wait, Ed McMahon is the one that needs the million dollars now that he is b-r-o-k-e. Hmmm, where did all that Johnny Carson money go? And most of you have no idea who Johnny Carson is or that Ed McMahon was his sidekick do you? Sigh.) Hey, Mr. Solicitor with the white car, don't you know it is unwise and unsafe for a woman home alone with small children to open the door to strangers? I don't care if you are from the volunteer fire department. I don't know you. Ergo, you are a stranger. So go away. Leave us alone.
And while I'm at it: To all the other solicitors, I wanna tell you something. I've had it with every stinkin one of you freaks. Don't come to my door anymore pitching your sob story that they undoubtedly coached you up for at magazine subscription selling school about how you want to live in a house like mine one day so would I please buy 55 magazines that I don't need to make your dream come true. Because the next time you come here giving me that sob story about how you want to live in my neighborhood, I'll tell you to do what my husband and I did. Stay out of trouble. Go to school and stay there. Study and get good grades. Find a real job and bust your tootie tot for yourself instead of pimping out your magazine selling services while 8 months pregnant (oh yes she was) in the cold rain for the guy sitting in the van at the end of the street. Oh, oh, and don't you dare tell me that "Mrs. Jones up the street, she bought umm, like 12 subscriptions. She's so nice." Well, umm goodie goodie for her. That's alot of recycling.
And since I'm on a roll: To the future solicitors of America: Unless you are a student, and I know your mother, and you are selling something for a school or organization that I am aware of, and how do you like my really long run on sentence, Go away. Run along. Mama doesn't want any. Oh, what's that? You've heard I was a sucker because I've bought discount cards to restaurants in different states, coupons for bowling alleys and golf courses two counties over, popcorn I'll never eat (oh wait, I did eat that), raffle tickets for things I've never won, enough wrapping paper for the next decade (well, I actually like that, and I bought it from my daughter. So it doesn't count), signed contracts for exterminating services not once but twice, bought tickets to baseball games that I couldn't attend, and yes, subscribed to those blankety blank magazines that I barely have time to read. Well, yeah I've had a hard time saying no to someone asking me to buy something while I'm looking right at them. Oh, and about the trio of very aggressive Jehovah Witnesses that pulled up in their car and blocked my driveway one day while I was out gardening (I don't make up this stuff) and tried to convert me even after I told them repeatedly that I was a born again Christian, that Jesus was my savior, that HE is the truth, that the Bible is the Living Word of God but they kept coming back and coming back and coming back, each time blocking my driveway, well, I was just too nice (scared actually) to tell them to get off my property.
Dagnabit, I've had it. It all ends today. Right now. There's a new lady of the house, and I cannot be held responsible for what she might do.
Don't you dare think about knocking on my door or peeking in my window to try and sell me something because, repeat after me, I don't want what you're selling. Period. End of story. Buh bye. Run along before I learn how to use this thing.