We all try to provide good examples for our children right? A few years ago, that used to be a stretch for me, when this mommy had to explain why she was pretending that she wasn’t at home, when she clearly was.
I’ve played a game of subterfuge whenever I’ve had unwanted visitors of the kind who insist on calling at the most inopportune times. These visitors are usually of a certain faith (denomination), and they choose to come at those times when I’m sitting and doing nothing, or else when I’m just about to sit down and do nothing. As I said – at the most inconvenient times.
Back then, in my quest to avoid them, I’d have to turn the volume on the TV way down, creep quietly around my own house and lay flat on the floor to avoid being seen through the curtains.
A task made all the more difficult with a pre-schooler who hadn’t yet mastered the use of his inside voice.
At that time, the house that I lived in had a gate whose latch (as soon as you lifted it), would announce any visitor – or intruder, depending on how you looked at it; so as long as I was near the front of the house, I could have ample warning allowing me to take a quick and surreptitious peek outside.
And commence operation “shut down”.
Because most visitors were polite and wary of dogs, I could be sure that while the person would attempt to open the gate, that person would remain on the other side of it until they were summoned by the person inside. Which I wasn’t doing – because I wasn’t there, remember?
But every now and then, travelling with the group would be a fearless individual, who would leave the others standing on the road while he mounted the four or so steps to the gallery which would land him a few feet from my front door.
Now nothing pisses me off more than somebody stepping onto my welcome mat uninvited. Except somebody ringing my doorbell. Because then I can’t tell my son that he was just “hearing” things. So I open the door and see the face of the eager beaver – and I notice as well, the looks on the faces of the other people lying in wait in the street.
Some wear the expressions of people who’ve grown accustomed to being told “no” and are about ready to move on to the next impervious resident. Others wonder whether this will be the house where they actually get to come in out of the sun. And others have the knowing look that says they’ll be seeing me on Judgement Day but I’ll likely be on the opposite side of that gate.
However, since I’m hardly ever in the mood to have a whole wash of people who I don’t know congregate inside my house, I ask that they come back at a more convenient time.
I hear you wondering whether that time ever came.
Well, since I never refuse anyone’s offer of chewing gum or breath mints, it stands to reason that I shouldn’t rebuff any commendable efforts to save my soul, either.
Because I never know when I’m going to be in need of a bail out.