The Past Minute and a Half

It's Saturday. It's morning time. I was, of course and just like you know you'd love to be doing, sitting here in front of my computer in the clothes that I slept in (read underpants and a tank top--don't picture it but just know what I'm talking about) and listening to an embarrassing mix that I listen to when no one else is around. In short, this is Me Time.

I'm sitting here reading all the articles that I've been meaning to read all week and listening to "Shy Ronnie 2: Ronnie and Clyde (feat Rhianna)" when I hear a knock at my door. My mind, as I'm sure everyone's does when someone knocks on their door, goes to imagining a plan of attack. But then I remember that it's okay because if someone's going to break in, then they're probably not going to knock first. So I stand up to answer the door and remember the unders. So I sprint--the long way around so that I don't pass the front door--to my bedroom and grab the first pair of jeans that I can find, and a bathrobe. So, essentially, I look like a psycho path with crazy hair and crazy eyes by the time I make it to the front door. They're wearing purple. Who wears purple? Jehovah's Witnesses, I guess. I don't know if that was planned or if one guy showed up at the other guy's house and said, "Purple? You're wearing purple too? You know white people can't wear that color. No, I don't have time to change. Let's just go."

So they introduce themselves and say something like, "you look like you just woke up." To which my brain responds with, "You can not be serious with me right now, right? It's Saturday morning! And also I've been up since 7:00 thankyouvermuch. I'm just lazy--which I have a right to be. As an American."
But my mouth said, "Oh, I'm... getting ready for work..."

As they hand me several copies of The Watchtower, I'm noticing that my music (which is turned up way too loud for company) has switched to a song by The Bird and The Bee entitled Fucking Boyfriend. Which is sweet but the chorus says, "tell me would you be my would you be my fucking boyfriend?" And it repeats it kind of a lot. It's a delightful tune. Really it is.

Quickly they dismissed themselves. Walking down my steps saying things like, "We're just doing this to bring glory to Jehovah!" To which I respond, for reasons that I can not fathom, "Yeah, me too. Have a good... day?"

Walking to the next house I'm sure they were discussing my drug problem.