Ever since that singing scam artist swindled me out of 75 smackers, I never answer the door.
So last week, when the doorbell rang, my husband and I shushed each other and he spied through the peephole while ignoring the would-be solicitor. Then he tiptoed as fast as he could to the couch where I sat with my laptop to whisper to me that there was a giant aluminum can knocking on our door.
“Blog post,” he says.
He’s always thinking, that guy.
We scrambled to the window to peer through the blinds and this giant aluminum can (which wasn’t a an aluminum can, by the way), was already headed to the next door neighbors.
So I grabbed my camera and ran out the door to catch up with him and his human friend.
“Excuse me,” I called out to the ambling appliance, “may I take a picture of you?”
“Why sure!” the nice young human said as his giant friend stood by silently.
And they posed. And the human offered me his card.
It seemed ironic or something that some poor sap was sweating to death inside an air-conditioner costume in the summer heat, but people need jobs, so…