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Warning To The Grammarically Correct: If it just bothered you that I wrote "Grammarically", you may as well leave now because my grammar gets even worse.

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I'm a wife and mom to three boys. I love everything 80's, anything chocolate and loathes politics. I like to run for fun (preferably NOT in the hot, hot sun)....

Thursday, May 18, 2006

The Death of a Salesman

(Yes, this really did happen to me. Hopefully, one day the real 'Mr. Salesman' will be able to hear - or read - MY side of the story.)

Dear Mr. Salesman,

You know who you are. You, the one who knocked on my door that Saturday afternoon back in February. That's the Saturday my husband took my two older boys to the Home Depot for who knows what. It was just the baby and I home alone. Since I wasn’t planning on going anywhere and I certainly wasn’t expecting you to come-a-knocking, I was wearing my favorite bum clothes. My outfit consisted of sweat pants that were so loose that the crotch of the pants went almost to my knees and red sweatshirt. It was so quiet in my house that Saturday afternoon that the baby fell asleep on my lap and my heavy eyelids soon followed. I dozed off.

I was startled from my peaceful sleep by the sound of a ringing doorbell. I quickly got up and went to the door with babe in arm. I wasn't going to open the door, but I noticed that you saw me peeking through the side glass window. When I opened the door you greeted me with a freakishly chipper..."Hello". As your mouth started moving, my mind wandered off hoping that you would get to the point of what you were trying to sell. I already planned what would happen since I’ve been in this scenario many of times. I would let you do your pitch and I will very nicely tell you, “no thanks”. I would shut my door and you could go on your merry way.

As I blankly stared at you, in that --I am here, but I'm not-- sort of way, I noticed that you gave me the once-over. You looked me up and you me looked down. That's when it happened. You know what I am talking about. You gave me ‘that’ look. I’m not quite sure how to describe that face you made. It wasn’t a look of disgust, but rather a look of bewilderment.

You surprisingly wrapped up your sales-pitch with, “…but you seem too busy with the baby and all. You probably don’t have much time.” I nodded in agreement – or was that shock? Before the word “yes” even came out of my mouth you were already at the end of my driveway. I thought to myself, “What a nice man. He doesn’t want to waste my time.”

I stepped back into my house and closed the door. The baby was getting heavy in my left arm so I decided to move him to my right arm. As I shifted the baby, I noticed that he was wet from a leaky diaper. I looked down at myself and that is when I saw ‘it’. There ‘it’ was; right in the center of my droopy pants with the droopy crotch. A big - and it was big - old wet spot in the most inconvenient and obvious place. It must have happened when the baby was sleeping on my lap. I’m sure you saw ‘it’ too and ‘it’ was the reason for your quick departure.

My face turned red from embarrassment. I wanted to run out the door and yell out to you, “It wasn’t me!” But alas you were long gone. You see, Mr. Salesman, while I am usually quite busy “with the baby and all” I will always - and I mean always – find the time to do ‘that’ the proper way. I may be busy, but I am still – for the most part – civilized. After you left my house you probably were too dazed to knock on my other neighbors’ doors. Or you just went to the bar to go tell your other salesmen friends – while laughing hysterically – about the lady who wet her pants.

At least now you know my story. I don’t suppose you were selling diapers that day. You know, it’s hard to find a good diaper that doesn’t leak nowadays.


The Lady With The Wet Pants (But It's Not What You Think)


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