A couple of days ago there was a knock on my door. I was sitting writing about being domestic and peeling through Arden Farms Co. Cookbook, circa 1952. The knock shook me out of my trance in which I attempted to fathom the flavor of cheese pudding.
I went to the door where a young fella, younger than I, stood in the door. He was a bit scraggly, wearing a business tie and a pair of Nikes. I thought he was selling magazine subscriptions, and was already preparing my “No thank yous” when he told me that he wanted to clean my carpets.
“You wouldn’t believe it to see them, but I just attacked them with the carpet cleaner yesterday,” I said.
“All the better!” the fella chimed. “I can show you how to get a REAL clean carpet.” It was obvious that he was an old hat with the old lines. Nevertheless, I kept denying.
“I really have to be going in a minute to pick my daughter up from school in a moment.”
“It will only take a moment.”
“I’m allergic to cleaning products?” I tried, feebly.
“This is made from oranges, though!” he insisted.
“I’m broke.”
“Have a nice day.”
In a pinch, honesty works.
After an hour or so, I realized that I had just made my first big retro-active FAIL. Would June have shooed that poor boy away? Never! She would have made him coffee and a sandwich and then bought three cans of every product available.
This “Going Nuclear” thing is becoming harder than I thought. No matter.
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