The doorbell rang a few minutes ago while I was taking a nap. The dogs went insane, of course, so there was no chance of me dozing back off. I headed downstairs to see who was here.
But Misty hadn't opened the door. Instead, she was peering out the blinds to investigate.
"Oh, come on. Don't just make them stand there," I said to her. "The garage door is open — they can see that we're home."
The bell rang again. Certain that opening the door would only lead to a sales pitch, though, Misty scooped up Emily and retreated to the kitchen.
I opened the door to see a guy in his mid-20s at the curb, climbing into his truck. Seeing me, he turned around.
"Hey, man!" he shouted. "Are your parents home?"
"My parents?" I asked incredulously. "They live in Atlanta." Then I shut the door before he could reply.
I turn 30 in less than two weeks.
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