When you’re first married, on a typical weekend, you sleep until 10 a.m., wake up, make coffee, and go back to sleep. Imagine my surprise when my husband violated our ritual and decided to answer the door.
When it comes to the doorbell, my husband’s like Pavlov’s dog. He can’t stand to ignore it.
Ding dong.
“Leave it,” I said, patting my hair. “They’ll go away. Besides, I’m not decent.”
He rushed to the door, slid to a stop in stocking feet, and pulled it open, bare chest and all.
Did you NOT hear a single word I said? Let me be more clear. If you answer the door, hell will rain down on you.
I peeked around the corner, my slovenly appearance blocked by his body. Two unknown people stood outside my front door. I could tell by their formal attire, the man wearing a blue blazer with a collared shirt, the woman in a long dress with kitten heels, that it was church people from the Church of I-Want-to-Ruin-Your-Sundays.
Church People, Come On In
My husband yanked the door opened, his half-nakedness exposed, much to the delight of the neighbors, and welcomed the visitors into our living room.
“Stacey, come out,” he shouted as I attempted to bolt upstairs. “Someone’s here to see us.”
That fool.
I crept forward, wearing Betty Boop pajamas and fuzzy slippers. They took a seat and introduced themselves as Sue and Ron. They launched into incredible details about their church; it’s location, philosophy, yadda yadda. At one point, they asked, “You have any questions?”
Ask a Loaded Question?
My husband said, “What’s the difference between the Catholic and Lutheran Churches?”
Hey, what’s the big idea asking such a loaded question? I’m out of here the first chance I get.
They responded with the enthusiasm of a kid chewing a 12-hour jawbreaker with a sour candy center. “Back in 1571, Martin Luther…” and droned on and on, covering 445 years in three hours.
This is gonna take a while.
My husband had a history of asking leading questions of strangers, neighbors, and relatives. Once at Christmas, he asked my grandmother to tell him the story of her childhood. That led to a five-hour discussion. Even my grandfather skipped out.
“Mike, you’re on your own,” Grandpa said, bouncing off the sofa like he was on fire. “I’m getting rum punch. Will. Not. Be. Back.”
About midway through our “conversation” with the church folks, my husband made a move to escape. You know what I mean; he placed his hands on the edge of the divan and tried to rise.
“Hey buddy,” I hissed. “Sit back down. You opened the door.”
Then right before they left, they paused and asked me, “Do you have any questions?”
“Do you mind calling first the next time?”
I am going to hell.
With that, they grabbed their pamphlets and scattered faster than ants at a church picnic.
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Ah yes, the church people. Sounds like a bad B horror movie! But it makes for a funny piece! I love the part about grandpa and his rum punch! HAHAHA!
I failed to mention that we actually go to church but would appreciate a phone call on our day “off.” My grandpa could move.
I answered the door once…I did not see them coming. The minute I opened the door they said, “Did you know that they are teaching evolution in the school?” (My husband was a teacher and so was I.) When I looked them in the eye and said, “Well I certainly hope so!” they left. What are you going to do.
Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion but most groups only will listen one of their own. On a friend’s door it says, “Only knock if you are selling Girl Scout cookies.”
Thank you, Stacey. It is so funny and relatable! Really Enjoyed reading it. Looking forward to more. ?
I see it in my mind like it happened yesterday and not 25 years ago.
At least your hubby saved the neighbors that day. My hubby liked to open the door to them in just his underwear, and then he’d smirk real oily like, “Sure, you can come in. But just the ladies.” They stopped showing up.
Oh dear. I bet they burned rubber getting out.
I’m glad I live in an apartment where you have to ring a buzzer to get into the main door. Keeps out, solicitors.
Lucky you with the buzzer. Please call first!
Rolling laughing over here. The church people were strolling our streets yesterday.
I give them credit for trying to gather us in….. but I also hide from them by laying on the floor to avoid their peeking eyes in my large window. I think my hips stuck out last time they knocked. I played dead.
I’ll meet you in hell. Bring wine!
Oh my gosh. You’re right. You’re going to hell.