Last night I’m drying my hair when I hear a knock at my bedroom door. It’s my youngest stepson, Caleb.
Caleb: Jessie, Colonel Sanders is at the door.
This is said in a quiet, serious tone, as if what he said is a totally normal thing to announce. There is a long pause while I take it in.
Me: (blankly) What?
Caleb: It’s either Colonel Sanders or the old guy from Jurassic Park.
This is Caleb’s idea of explaining something, by the way.
Me: Wha… What? So someone’s at the front door?
Caleb: Yes. But I’m not answering it.
Me: Well, neither am I! I’m in the middle of something.
(Don’t judge me. It takes a long time to dry my hair, you guys. And I can’t just stop in the middle! There’s a process.)
Caleb: I’m gonna tell Gunnar.
He marches to Gunnar’s room and says in the same tone, “Colonel Sanders is at the door.” From the hall I could hear Gunnar say, “What?”
Caleb appears back in the hall with a baffled Gunnar trailing behind him. I’m pretty sure both our face expressions are the same.
“Caleb, is he still out there?” I hiss, for I just remembered that my windows are open.
Caleb: I’ll check.
Most normal people with an unwanted visitor on their doorstep would then quietly tiptoe down the stairs to check on the situation.
He thunders down the stairs with all the delicacy of a St. Bernard and thrusts his face against the door to peer through the peephole. “He GONE!” he declares with satisfaction.
I feel bad we left the poor guy standing on the porch. “I’m sure he was a perfectly nice man.”
“I’m sure he was,” Caleb says agreeably. “I’m sure he raises dinosaurs. Or chickens.”
I relay this incident word for word when my husband Eric got home. He’s now irritated we didn’t answer the door because he wants to know who it was.
“I don’t answer the door when you’re not here!” I protest.
“Gunnar and Caleb are here!”
“But I’m the adult! I’m supposed to protect them. What if he was psycho?”
“If the three of you can’t take the old guy from Jurassic Park, then you’ve got problems.”
The Pingles, ladies and gentlemen.