So I am cleaning my kitchen one Sunday and the doorbell rings. I of course ignore it. Nobody I care to see ever comes to my door without warning me in well advance that they're going to stop by... but much to my annoyance they keep on ringing and knocking.
Goddammit why do people feel the need to disrupt my reclusive life of hermitness (hermititude?)?
Eventually their persistence pays off and I edge slowly to the door to peer out the window. Sometimes I can do this in a way such that the person outside doesn’t see me, but no dice this time (note-to-self: blackout windows by the door and install a peephole). These two bitches literally have their faces pressed up against the window so they can see inside and as soon as they see me creeping up to the door, I’m pretty much fucked. Well, I guess I could have still ignored them and for a split second I have the urge to flip them the bird and turn around to head back to my very important cleaning chores, but even I’m not that rude. OK actually I am, but I’m apparently in a somewhat amicable mood, so I decide to answer the door.
As soon as I open the door they take a step back, hand me a flier, and smile this creepy smile at me – you know, empty-eyed and cult-like - very Children of the Corn-esque. They look to be somewhere between the ages of 16 and 20 and are wearing below-the-knee wool skirts, long sleeved crew neck sweaters with long sleeved button down shirts underneath, what looked like thick support-type pantyhose, and shoes that should have never seen this side of 1952.
Aaaaaand they are holding Bibles. Fucking great. What happened to not working on Sundays, even if it is God's work?
So I’m staring emptily at the flier in my hand and they’re yammering on about something but I’m not paying attention because my dogs are dancing around all excited to see strangers and my mind is racing to try and find a way to get them off my front stoop without just outright slamming the door in their faces, which I’m seriously considering as an option.
They finally finish their spiel and then look at me expectantly.
After a long uncomfortable silence while they smile vacantly at me (which I can’t lie, is freaking me the fuck out), my brain suddenly kicks into gear and I tell them that they are about 2 months too late. The Mormons stopped by already and stole my soul and that they should consider firing their regional God sales director because as trite as it sounds, the early bird really does get the worm. Plus if their organization had done their research properly several months ago they would have known that the H3ather household was rife with sin and spiritual emptiness and prime easy pickens, but now it is whole and pure and....um.... full of uh...Mormonitude and stuff. And on top of that, the Mormons sent attractive young men who actually picked up my paper off the driveway and brought it to my door, so perhaps they should also reassess their image and their presentation skills.
And then I thank them and try and send them on their merry little way, but my dogs are too busy trying to sniff their pantyhose to death, as if they smell something that they've never smelled before which could be one of three things: 1) pantyhose (which I never wear because I find them reprehensible and nasty), 2) godliness, or 3) virgin...