“Buy my magazines!”
“Let me wash all the stains out of your carpet with my amazing Crap Out solution!”
“Pay for my trip to
The only ones who wend their way into my heart are the neighborhood ankle biters who shove their school forms under my nose, inviting me to buy gift wrap that was designed by a hung-over frat house suffering from gastrointestinal regurg, or candy that was the Army rejects from Desert Storm. If you don’t live in my neighborhood, don’t be ringin’ my door. I'm a cranky old broad. Out of desperation, I put up a sign to discourage this breed.
I work at home, so these door beggars invariably ringy dingy when I'm in the middle of a phone conversation with an agent or publicist – or worse – working on my book.
This morning's adventure forced me to hang up with the hoo ha NY agent I've been prostituting myself over to sign his client's manuscript, tromp downstairs, grab the dog so she doesn't charge out to lick the person to death, open the door and hear the final insult: “Hi there!” followed by a small wave by a young man with ears way too large for his head. “Are you the queen of this castle?”
Me: (blinking dumbly.Queen of the castle? Oh brother) No, but I am the head witch of this coven. How may I help you?
Big Eared Young Man: I’m looking for sponsorship to this oh-so-special-college
Me: (immediately feeling very pissy over hanging up with hoo ha NY agent) Does this oh-so-special college include reading lessons?
Big Ears: Huh?
Me: (pointing to the sign that says “Solicitors Will Be Eaten”) Seems this is the Pound Princess’ lucky day. Sic ‘em, girl!
My docile PP turns into Cujo, complete with perfectly appointed lip curl and low growl.
Big Ears: Screw this! (his face blanches and he races for the sidewalk)
Me: (shouting) Y’all come back now, y’hear?
PP and I collapse against the wall in a fit of giggles and share high-fives. Hey, I already admitted I’m a shit. But I still have to get my jollies wherever I can. Now, I really must go back and call that agent...