Someone came a-knocking at my door a couple days ago — unexpectedly. It was a bad choice. I hope you don’t do that to anyone.
I mean, knocking is okay. That’s fine. You should definitely always knock, as opposed to just walking in. Unless you have been pre-approved for the automatic walk-in. Whatever.
I’m talking about the “unexpected” part. I don’t like surprises. Life is often shocking enough for ten lifetimes, so I read spoilers, and yes, I do sometimes peek at the ending. That’s just the way I roll. So please, if you coming over to visit, let me know ahead of time.
Mystery Knocker (as I shall refer to him henceforth) made several grave errors when he chose my door upon which to place his knuckles. Poor bastard. He had no idea I’d be analyzing him on my bloggy-blog. But NO PITY FOR YOU, Mystery Knocker!
Mystery Knocker Mistake #1
That asshole knocked so hard I worried for the glass in my door frame shattering. This house isn’t made of the strongest materials, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the window broke and cut up his hand. Would I be legally responsible for any boo-boos he received from my property?
I think I’d try to pass that off as good ol’ fashioned Breaking-n-Entering. Because (a) you broke my shit, which (b) caused your fist to enter my shit. I’m not paying for that. You’re the dumb-dumb who couldn’t get his knocker under control.
If you are a Mystery Knocker, please control your knockage.
Mystery Knocker Mistake #2
That ass-hat is probably the same son-of-a-gun who visited last week, right as I was headed out the door.
Here’s me, trying to get my daughter packed and ready so she could go spend the weekend with her dad. I’ve got less than five minutes before I have to pass her off for three days, and I want to spend them hugging her, not talking politics with somebody.
So I told the guy, “Look, I don’t know which team you’re on, but I’m voting for Obama. I’m very decided and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind. This is a bad time anyway, so…” and then I shut the door.
I know, I know. I was so rude. Especially if he was on my own team, right? I can be such a bitch. But there were precious minutes — minutes — to be appreciated. I had to go get busy appreciating them. Politics has nothing on my daughter. She wins. Hands down.
If you are a Mystery Knocker, please engage appropriate timing.
Mystery Knocker Mistake #3
That ass-clown scared me silly. Seriously, I know I’m going back to the knocking here, but I cannot get over how fucking hard that dude knocked. I can tell you right now, if you knock that hard, I’m going to assume you’re pissed, or at the very least, hugely unhappy. And I’m not answering. Fuck that. You might want to yell at me about my overgrown grass, or the cable that’s still draped across our deck, or something I can’t even fathom because that’s all I got.
Why would I *ON PURPOSE* invite someone to yell at me? Never gonna happen.
Plus, what if you, Mystery Knocker, are a rapist or thief or something? That knock gives you away. I am not opening my door so you can come in and ravage my body or take my Xbox.
(If it’s a choice, I might go with body. We really need our Xbox because we use it to stream Netflix, and I’m not caught up on Dexter, Weeds, True Blood, or Fringe. Also, I hear Breaking Bad is good. Can’t try it out with no Xbox. Just sayin’.)
(((Okay, for fuck’s sake. I don’t think rape is a joking matter. It’s serious. And my price for prostitution is much higher than a mere Xbox, as long as we’re talking cost here.)))
If you are a Mystery Knocker, don’t give yourself away.
Mystery Knocker Mistake #4
That ass is obviously just an ass. Anyone who knows me would walk in.
OMG. I just invited every rapist ever to my house, didn’t I? I have herpes. Go away.
My point here is, he didn’t even leave a freaking note. You pound that hard on my door, I have to assume you think it’s a matter of great importance. So important you don’t leave a note, though? That sounds, instead, like a personal problem. Not mine.
If you are a Mystery Knocker, carry sticky-notes and a Sharpie.
Do I regret hiding from Mystery Knocker?
No, not particularly. I am seriously curious as to who it was, though. I wish I had a spyhole through which I could have peeked, because that would make this post so much more interesting. I could describe the jack-wagon to you in full detail. Instead, I’m left with a pocket full of assumptions.
- Mystery Knocker is a guy. No woman would knock that hard. I’m fairly certain that’s true, although I don’t have the statistics to back it up.
- Mystery Knocker is angry. No sane, calm person would knock that hard. Can I get an AMEN?
- Mystery Knocker is rude. No civil person, in this cellular age, would stop by without texting or calling or emailing or FBing or Tweeting first. That’s a lot of things he skipped. Which means, he isn’t civil. And also? His social media skills are lacking.
- Mystery Knocker is stupid. Nobody party to such rage would fail to follow up. And it’s a week later, with no follow up. No note, no call, no social media. See? Stupid.
- Mystery Knocker is white. This is Farmersville. I’d have heard if there were individuals of color besides my own son walking around town.
So what we have here is a very rude, angry, stupid, white man. I can go so, so many places with this one. But I’ma let it lie. Political season is *almost* over. No need to hate on the Republicans one last time.
Hopefully, Mystery Knocker, we have heard the last of you. Don’t bother swinging back by — I moved the blinds so as to better conceal myself, so you can no longer peek in my windows to see if I’m actually home. I probably *AM* home. But I will never, ever answer the door to you.