Sketchy things rarely happen in this small town, so when they do, it’s big news. Back in October, some dumbass from Connecticut tried to kidnap a member of the girls’ cross-country team (not just any cross-country team, mind you, but a team that’s best in the state and who took #2 in the country; the boys’ team placed #1 — view site). The girl escaped and the coach chased him down and called the police. In jail, he tried to hang himself. Now he’s been indicted.
Anyway, in this small town, gladly, things like that just don’t really happen. So when someone rings the doorbell of my house, my first instinct is never one of suspicion. Not that I was worried about being kidnapped (though I did used to run track, so kidnappers, beware!), but yesterday was a different story when the man who rang my doorbell didn’t identify himself, wanted to “show you something that I think you’ll like,” and kept insisting on coming inside. Despite my curiosity, I held strong in my doorway and wouldn’t let him in. I asked him what he was selling and told him to give me his 30-second sales pitch. He grew frustrated and said, “Well, if you’d just listen to me!” Which, of course, I was; I just wasn’t going to let a stranger with no identification who wouldn’t tell me what he wanted into my house. So he stormed off to continue on his strange door-to-door journey. I conferred with my neighbor, who also got a weird vibe from the guy, and we agreed to report him.
This guy should’ve taken a hint from my favorite solicitors of all time — the Mormons who asked if there was anything they could do for me, even after I told them I didn’t share their beliefs. It was this past summer, and to this day, I wish I had taken them up on their offer and put them to work mowing my lawn.
There’s a mini-van in my future. My in-laws love the mini-van and recently purchased a new one. So they’re giving the old Windstar with 140,000 miles on it to me. Oh yes. Rollin’ mini-van style. And we don’t even have any kids yet. (James was giving me a hard time via IM yesterday.) But hey, when all you need is a beater to get around town, who cares what it is? I even considered buying a cargo van, but then I might have been mistaken for a kidnapper.
For those of you who wanted it, here’s the recipe for Heather’s delicious spinach dip on Saturday night. Thanks, Heather!
