ANSWERING THE DOOR

Late this afternoon when I was in the basement working, I heard the doorbell ring. Hmmm. Do I drop what I'm doing and rush upstairs to answer it or just stay put? Oh, heck, I'll go see who it is and hope for the best. Maybe it's the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstake crew ready to pronounce me a millionaire.

No such luck. There on the porch were Trouble #1 and Trouble #2 bearing look-alike, plastic firearms of some sort.

"Stick 'em up!" they both happily shouted.

I obeyed but offered them resistance. "Why are you pointing your guns at me? I'm your favorite neighbor. I give you treats. I never yell at you. I let you play with my cats." Surely these pre-schoolers would be able to reason this through and give me a break.

"Keep your hands up!" Trouble #1 said, and #2 echoed the sentiment. Then their little boy sound effects went ballistic.

They verbally pummeled me with "bangs" and "pows." I came up from the basement for this? For a flashing moment I thought about dropping to the ground and pretending to be seriously wounded, to make them feel badly, but I was afraid I'd throw my back out of whack in the process or, worse, they'd just laugh and run away.

I've decided that next time I'm staying put and Fluffy is answering the door.