This morning at five minutes to eight I was sitting happily in my pajamas in the dining room trying to teach my six month old what to do with a spoon.
When my doorbell rang.
Wondering why my brother would be ringing the doorbell instead of just walking in, I leaned backward and shot a glance at the front ‘better window than a’ door.
It was someone I could not identify. In that case, there was no way I was getting up to answer the door. It was early, I was in a state of undress, and my baby, if left to her own devices, would happily make a gigantic mess while I was up.
He knocked.
I’m not sure if he’d seen me leaning to check who was there, or when I leaned to look at the clock, or if he knew I was there at all. I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I called out, “Dude, it’s not even 8 o’clock. I’m not wearing pants. There’s no way I’m answering the door.” I then hoped he would go away.
A couple of minutes later, I glanced out again. There was no one there. I was finished feeding the baby, so I ran and pulled something on, then ran back to the door to see if there was anyone walking away. The street was empty.
This whole situation reminded me of a scene from one of my favorite British TV shows, The I.T. Crowd. The characters are discussing the hazards of opening the door when there’s someone on the other side, and one declares that at his house, they never open the door. “What, never?” another asks. “But what if it’s-” “This is London, Jen,” the first says, cutting her off. “It’s not someone with cake.”
Now I have to sit around for the rest of the day and wonder why someone was knocking on my door at 8 AM. He wasn’t wearing a delivery uniform, just a random guy, so who knows what he wanted.
Lincoln, Nebraska isn’t nearly as dangerous as London, but I can probably be pretty certain that he didn’t have cake.
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