Last night I answered the friendly knock on the door in my summer work-out clothes: men's basketball shorts and t-shirt. (As a side note: don't you hate it when solicitors use the knock that should be reserved for friends and family? You know, the knock that is more pleasure than business?)
"Hi, are your parents home?"
(Considering telling him it's my house, but then deciding I'm too tired to deal with hearing his whole pest control monologue) "Nope."
"Ok. I'll just come back tomorrow."
"Oh, that's ok. Don't bother."
This is made even funnier by the fact that he was obviously about 20 years old.
Will those door-to-door salesmen never learn?
It's ok. I guess I can understand his confusion. I mean, can't you?
Ha ha, that's hilarious Rachel! I got that at work sometimes. I once got a compliment card from a patient who referred to me as "the nurse that looks like she's 18," and had my name to the side in parentheses.
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