Blogging has been light due to circumstances beyond my control. I appreciate the emails inquiring as to my plight, but all is relatively well, IÂ’ve just been busy. And it brought Jim out of retirement. I wondered what would happen the day the page turned white, and sure as eggs is eggs, Jim mounted up and rode onto the field. I am pleased.

On to new business.

If there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s an unannounced visitor. When I’m at home relaxing after a hard day, the last thing I want to hear is the doorbell. I used to pretend I wasn’t at home—I’d quietly sneak up to the door and peer out the little hole to see who was invading my privacy, at which point I’d either slink away or open up, depending on who it was.

For some reason the doorbell only rings when my wife is out, leaving me to deal with it. SheÂ’s out a lot. IÂ’m a homebody and sheÂ’s a social creature so it works out well, with me getting my alone time. Except for when the doorbell rings.

Neighbors are never given an audience. I donÂ’t care if music was blaring and both cars were in the driveway. Yes, they know IÂ’m in there and I donÂ’t care. IÂ’m not putting on pants for them. I generally opened up for my wifeÂ’s friends because I enjoy standing there in my underwear watching them try to look me in the eye instead of looking at my drawers, and they were always invited in to wait so that I might prolong the uneasiness. After a while they came to expect it and it was no longer fun, and in fact, started to present a danger.

But those days are over now. As soon as the doorbell rings my kid jumps up and runs towards the door yelping. ThereÂ’s no way to pretend youÂ’re asleep or not home with all the racket that kid makes. I long for the days of old, when a butler answered the door and visitors were expected to present a calling card, which would be brought to the master on a silver tray.

“Send them away, Throckmorton. I shan’t be receiving today.”

Since thatÂ’s not going to happen any time soon I have adapted. I generally just swing the door open and stand there in my drawers regardless of who might be on the other side. I imagine itÂ’s a sight, what with the kid trying to get around me and run out like a mad dog and me standing there with a glass of scotch, but you know, thatÂ’s not really my problem.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 10:10 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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