Dave's twin brother used to be our roommate. No they are not identical. Yes I would know the difference even if they were. No they are both good guys and would not try to do anything as slimy as that. (Not sure why people ALWAYS ask that). Back to my story. Our house used to be the party house. Jello shots flowed freely and there was always someone sleeping on our couch. One Sunday morning five or six of us were in the living room comparing hangovers when the doorbell rang. The dogs began barking in that earnest "get away from my house" bark that only adolescent dogs can manage. Dave's brother looked out the peephole grabs the dogs by the collars and asks if someone can open the door. I assumed it was someone we knew so I opened the door. Instead I see two terrified holly rollers. I glare at them with all the irritation I can muster, which was considerable as irritation is actually one thing a hangover is good for. The one on the right asks, "What kind of missionary eating dogs do you have in there?". I glanced at Sammy and Gambit who are hidden from their view behind the door reply, "Big" and slam the door in their faces.
Fiona's bed time is 8:00. Tuesday night at 8:45 while Dave is trying to get her to sleep the doorbell rings which causes the dogs to bark although their style is more going through the motions these days. The combination of doorbell and dogs of coarse wakes the baby right up. I storm out to the living room pulling my robe on because I was already in bed watching TV fling the door open and scream in the face of the sales person so rude as to ring a door bell at 8:45, "Are you kidding me? You just woke the baby!" and again slammed the door in his face before he has a chance to get out more than "Oh uh..."
As you may have noted I'm not a fan of sales people. Whether their selling siding or God. Because of this I want to put up a sign that says.
We have dogs and guns.
It's a statement of fact. If you feel threatened by it perhaps you should not ring my doorbell.