Harbouring a Fugitive

At this time every year I skulk through our house at all hours of the day trying to avoid the dreaded ring of the doorbell. It seems like just after the kids go back to school the teachers send them out to collect money for something or other and they all seem to come to my front door. But why is it that I get the aerating the lawn, raffle tickets, wrapping paper and cookie dough ones. Why doesn't a girl guide who wants to sell me chocolate mint cookies ever ring my doorbell...hmmm might have something to do with my "when you ring the doorbell my D.O.G. goes ballistic".

This spring I actually had our first Girl Guide come to our door. I actually bought the funky paper-cardboard tasting -store bought vanilla and chocolate cookies in hopes of her return in the fall, but sad she did not return. Might have been the dog, might have been the natural, chicken poop fertilizer all over our lawn.

Some days I wish we had several levels to our house or that I liked to sit in the basement...but no. I sit in the front living room, so when all of the panders come to my front door they look in at me first so I have to go. On the rare occasion I am somewhere else in the house or have seen them go up the other side of the street so I am hiding away. Peeking out windows and tip toeing around...my own house! I feel like I am a fugitive or something so hideous that will scare the population should I answer the door. Now I know why my parents bought all of my chocolate bars and just gave me the money...to keep our 6 whole neighbours out of hiding. Plus selling chocolate bars on the highway might be considered a form of child abuse. I like to call it love....of thy neighbour.

But let's face it I would rather have a child ask me to buy a bruised apple than a Jehovah Witness give me their flyer for free.