how i got my neighborhood black-listed

I think it's safe to say that I was fairly surly when the end of my pregnancy with Miss O rolled around.

Or, when I rolled around at the end of my pregnancy with Miss O.

Either way, and also? Moving on.

I was a long-term substitute for a middle school music teacher in a suburb of Buffalo, and if you missed it the ninetyeleven times I mentioned this so far? Teaching was not for me. Teaching is the opposite of what I should do when I grow up.

Says the mama who will be homeschooling next year.

I'm getting to the point, I swear.

But first? A brief commercial. I love Cheez-Its. The kind with two flavors in one box? All parmesanish and cheddarish? Hello, lover.

Anyway. I was fat and pissed off and my feet hurt. And it was dinner time (but with that pregnancy, it was ALWAYS dinner time...I will make it through this post if it kills me). Also, it was about 5 degrees outside, and while we measure temperature with the F, 5 degrees C sucks, too.

Someone knocked on my door, which was the result of a serious effort, because it was January, and there was about eighty-nine inches of snow on my sidewalk. Or four. I can't be held accountable for accurately describing things that happen to me when I'm pregnant.

I think I had changed out of my work clothes into my pajamas and bathrobe, so I was very excited to answer the door and find a gaggle of sort-of-well-ish-dressed twenty-somethings standing there.

Score.

I opened the door and asked if I could help them.

THEM: We're volunteers, and we would like to talk to you about some important information.

ANGRY PREGNANT LADY: Oh, really? Who do you volunteer for?

THEM: Ummm, uh, well, we're just, ummm.... volunteers.

PREGGERPANTS McGEE: No, seriously. You must be associated with somebody.

THEM: Well, we are volunteers. (Kind of the way one might say, I'm a MOUSEKETEER!)

MOI: That's great. I volunteer, too, with my local Habitat for Humanity affiliate. Except when I volunteer with them? I SAY SO.

THEM: We'd like to give you this information about God.

PREGNANT SMART-ASS: I know God.

The poor kids looked hopeful for a minute.

PREGNANT SMART-ASS: Do you work for God? How's that going? And why is He sending you out in weather like this?

The poor kids looked sad.

ME: Have a nice day.

I closed the door. And then my crazy hormone brain kicked in. If you have ever had crazy hormone brain, you know there's just nothing for it.

The poor, poor Mister. He has endured so much crazy.

I followed them out to their car. In my bathrobe, pajamas, and slippers.

The poor kids looked scared.

ME: Yeah, so here's the thing. If you have balls enough to go door to door in a strange community "volunteering" (yes, I did the air quotes), you should be able to muster up enough balls to say who sent you.

I also said something about standing on their soapbox, and if they truly believed in what they were doing they wouldn't be secretive and hide information... and I said a bunch of other things which quite possibly included something slightly more offensive than, "Get the hell out of Dodge and don't ever come back, you pansy-assed proselytizers."

To their credit? They follow directions wonderfully.

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Much thanks to cIII at The Goat and Tater for the inspiration. He scared 'em off with his tattoos. Word.