Jackassalope

Knock, Knock. Who's There?

It’s been quite awhile since someone has made the inaccurate assumption that I still live with mommy and daddy. It’s not that it offends me; I just get a little confused on how I appear to other people. At the ripe old age of 27, I have seen me appearance change a lot since high school. I’m married with a kid and another one on the way. I wear a wedding ring and consistently change the look of my facial hair, but I guess I still look prepubescent to the general public.

Last night I was watching a TV show when my doorbell rang. I didn’t want to answer it but figured that it would be rude to let the poor guy stand in the dark for much longer, so I opened the door. The guy was selling alternative energy for the power company, which I probably would have been interested in until he actually spoke.

“Hi,” he looked around sheepishly, “Are your mom or dad home?”

Those are the words; strike one, two, and three. Enter awkwardness. You see, I don’t really care how young I look. In fact, I take advantage of it more times than not. But I had a long day and was tired, so for this door-to-door salesman, it was the nail in his coffin.

“No, my mom and dad aren’t home because I am the owner of this house. What can I do for you sir.”

My tone wasn’t mean, but my point was heard. He tried to stutter his way through a short sales pitch, but his embracement ruled the conversation. I let him talk for a minute but eventually ushered him along, taking a pamphlet for his constellation prize. I’m sure a 12-year-old can answer the next door he knocks on, and he’ll probably start the conversation with “are you the owner of this house.”