November 15th might be the opening of Deer Season in Michigan, but this week is the opening of Door Season.
They'rrrrrreee Baaaaack! I have had solicitors at my door every day this week selling everything from lawn care to new windows to Jesus to legislation to actual-freaking-doors.
I can follow a coup d'état across the globe as it happens on Twitter. So the idea of a company still sending people out to bang on my door to try and sell me a set of Cutco knives feels a bit like having a wandering minstrel singing the news of the victory over the invading Saxons. Minus the cool lute and the awesome singing. I've officially become the crotchety old woman who has put a sign on her door hoping to ward off the daily intrusions.
Yesterday, some guy with a clip board and pamphlets under his arm stood at my door for a full five minutes, pounding like he lived here and was pissed that I'd locked him out. My dog barked like mad while I kept editing my manuscript; hoping that ignoring him would do the trick. After he gave up the ghost I noticed there wasn't even a pamphlet left on my door- some evidence of his diligence. Nothing. Why didn't I just answer the door? Because he was number three today.
Really. Enough. The No Solicitors sign went up this morning. Perhaps I should have added some warding spells or a garlic bunch for day-walkers... or maybe a Let's Go Cubs sign so they'd assume I'm completely crazy. (Hey, this could be the year.)
