I am listening to Maggie chatter in her crib.
She was premature awakened from her nap by the doorbell.
I was busy watching this video (which I find oddly intriguing), measuring my hips and spraying myself with my Thierry Mugler's Alien perfume.
To say that I am not a fan of the doorbell is sort of an understatement.
I hate the phone, too, but I can always hit the "ignore" button. The aversion to the doorbell is unique and more acute. I cringe when the doorbell rings unless, a.) there is something good and expected on its way (i.e. buffalo wings and/or pizza) or, b.) I am looking forward to someone coming over to babysit or bring me cookies.
Doorbells in the middle of the day are not good.
It is usually someone whom I don't want to see or do not care to speak with. In addition, I don't want them to see ME as I am usually in my stained tank with the shelf bra and drawstring shorts and sporting greasy hair.
Oh yea, and today I had just sprayed myself with a hefty dose of Alien because **I** find the fragrance appealing and felt like smelling delicious .
Anyway, anyone worth a nickel would leave whatever business they have with me on my doorstep. I hoped it was a package, or something fun.
Today was especially weird, though. The doorbell rang, the dog barked and I heard a declaration on the front porch from the person ringing the doorbell. The dog was confused and I hid in the kitchen. I prayed that Maggie wouldn't start crying (a dead giveaway that I was home and merely hiding).
The doorbell rang again, followed by another declaration.
The dog, not sure whether to bark snuffled loudly at the door jam.
I found my phone and called Chris.
"There's someone outside ringing the doorbell and yelling."
"Someone is ringing the doorbell and saying something really loud. What should I do?"
He suggested I answer the door, but I decided against it. I had placed my phone call to him and informed him what was going on. That was good enough for me.
I peeked outside and saw a car that vaguely looked like the mail car, speed off. I peered outside the front door. Nothing.
I immediately began to fret. Could it be a certified letter? Could it have to do with to the charges I filed in September against the mental senior citizen in the scooter who ran into my car ON PURPOSE? I've been sort of ignoring the letters from the State Attorney's office. Never a good idea, I know. The whole thing just causes me so much ANGST.
I can only speculate and fret.
And retrieve my wide-awake 18 month old. The mid-day interruption prematurely robbed me of my daily quiet time and the opportunity to do wildly important stuff. Like ~ cough, cough~ conquering my mounting chores. Or measuring body parts. Or sampling my perfume collection.
Damn it all, anyways.