Well, must be something about 90+ degree days that brings out the solicitors en masse. The last week or two has been one constant barrage of doorbell ringing, accompanied by the not-so-dulcet tones of two frenzied dachshunds who continue to bark for another three or four minutes after I’ve chased off whoever was at the door to trigger their stubby-legged outrage.
I’m trying to write, here, but instead, find myself under constant assault from people of all ages and clothing tastes, trying to sell me home security systems, cemetery plots, life insurance, flood insurance, frozen steaks in bulk all the way from Omaha, and even salvation, or at least their particular concept of what being saved is all about. Doesn’t matter if I tell them I have my own concept, a freezer full of steak (I wish), all the insurance I need (doubtful), a place in the garden set aside for my eternal rest (ha), and plenty of home security, provided by Ankle Biters, Inc. No matter what I tell them, the hits just keep a-comin’! Finally I got smart, and no one has rung my doorbell since. Could it really have been this simple all along?