GOODBYE Summer of Solicitors!

Goodbye summer of 2009. I officially dub you as:

2009 THE SUMMER OF SOLICITORS.

Aye yi yi.

I have had more people on my doorstep this summer than the ice cream truck sees in a week. (Trust me, there have been a LOT!) And that is another story in itself—the ice cream truck. *groan*

That ice cream man has been circling our neighborhood EVERY DAY for the past 4 months! I’m starting to wonder if the driver is blind, with an aggressive case of Alzheimer’s.

Alright, alright. I admit, it’s my fault. Maybe my getup isn’t helping as I stand out on my porch with my big red magnet, trying to attract his attention.

Seriously, I am just about ready to sabotage the ice cream truck. He circles our house like a Haagen Daaz vulture. I think I’ll put containers of melted ice cream in the road as speed bumps—he couldn’t miss that hint.

BUT – back to the subject at hand. This is where the story takes a dark and threatening turn. (Did you hear the foreboding music in the background? Huh, maybe it was just me.)

There is something far more menacing and insistent than the annoying ice cream truck.
It is: the solicitors. This summer my house has been the venus fly trap for solicitors. How am I attracting so many, you ask?

Yes, because I am a SAHM—therefore I don’t shop with kids. I try to be innovative by bringing the shopping to me.

And if that doesn’t work…

I built this sign myself with legos :)

I have had so many solicitors—I can’t even put on my nice “fake/faux” grin anymore when they knock and ring the bell because it is ALWAYS at nap time. GRRRRRRRR!
Forget the “beware of dog” warning. Mine now reads:

So the instant anger I feel when they wake up my 2 kids by ALWAYS ringing the bell or—knocking on the door loud enough to chip paint off the framework. Yes Mr. Salesman, I can hear you. You woke up my 2 kids and now you have elicited the dreaded ‘mother’s wrath’. Do you think I want to buy whatever product you’re selling? If it is so incredible, why hasn’t a regular store picked it up? Yeah, I’m sold {insert sarcasm.}

Oh, and thanks for waking the babies with your monster knock and aggressive door bell ringing—glad to know your hands work—because you’re gonna need them for self defense when I answer the door.

How you must have thought I would be afraid I’d miss your sales pitch! I could have been anywhere! I may have been in the far corner of my backyard with the sliding door closed, sunning my supermodel bod by the Fisher Price kiddie pool, with a 6’2" dark, muscled hunk rubbing lotion on my burnt nose and sipping freshly-squeezed raspberry lemonade and eating a Klondike bar, no less.

HEAVENS! Why interrupt that? Thanks for pounding dents into my door! I wouldn’t miss it! “You go get’em tiger!”

Did you ever see the movie Hulk? I bonded with that man when I watched the show. I never quite got it as a kid—but now as a mother of 4, I SO relate to him! So, let’s review. He gets provoked, gets super angry, and then transforms into a 20 foot hulk of a man who tears out of his shirt?

Yeah, solicitors bring out that side out of me—except for the tearing off the shirt part. That wouldn’t be pretty. I like to answer the door in-tact. So, yeah, I admit, sometimes I’ve had moments when I have gotten pretty angry—wishing I could turn green and morph just like him!

My kids have seen it. Shrugging, they tell their friends, “Yeah, that’s my mom. She’s having an out-of-body experience.”

Wow. I’ve never seen myself with so much cleavage…even pregnancy wasn’t that generous!

Now, let’s be honest. If I answered the door looking like this—wouldn’t you run? I would have to lay down a rubber mat, I’m sure there would be one a many solicitors who would wet themselves before tripping over their feet to get off my porch.

Alright, so get this. I even had a solicitor who went so far as to drink cleaner to prove it was safe! Dude, if you’re going to get drunk off your own product, props to you, but I still ain’t going to buy it! But truly, knock yourself out.

I’m all about being entertained, but drinking cleaning fluid is just passé to me.

Honestly, I just want to see you burp fire like a drunken clown at the circus—or pass gas like one—then maybe I’ll buy your stuff. Because, if you singe my arm hairs—ThAT. WOULD. ROCk. (But please don’t singe it with your backside “nasty”—that’s off limits. I don’t want to smell like toxic intestines. Although….the smell would compliment my green hulk get-up….)

Solicitors, if you come to my door, and I have to get off my “lazy butt” to answer the door—because we SAHMs eat bon bons all day—if you come, I want a show.

(Uh……nothing naughty. I’m not asking for a door-to-door Vegas style solicitor.)

BUT, I don’t want to be lectured! Oyi!

So, a word of caution and a helpful tip; WHEN you knock on MY door, you’ll have better success if you try selling it to my backside, because that’s all you’re going to see as I turn and shut the door.



*Thank you Jordan for all your awesome photoshop work! Love ya girl!*