Chick-fil-A: A medley

I saw this video on a friend's blog.

Cracked me up.

And made me crave a Number One.

And I thought the term "Old Maid" was insensitive.

We're an exciting bunch here at my house. Most nights you can find us playing a game of Sorry or Uno but when we're really edgy, you'll see us gathered around the coffee table playing Old Maid.

I played a lot of Old Maid as a kid but somehow I missed the significance of the images on the cards.

Did you know they are all circus freaks?

You did? Well, I bet you sat at the front of the class.

We have a new card deck with a vintage look, so technically the pictures on the cards are new and made to look old. Not that it is important. Just keeping you in the loop.

Here are a few of the characters.

The Fat Lady, Midget Man, Dancing Bear, Standing Elephant, Bareback Rider and Trained Seal.

There are enough politically incorrect images there for every special interest group to rally.

And tell me one more thing. Why is a sweet old lady hanging out with circus freaks? Did the carnies reject her?

It's just wrong. So wrong.

Seasons

On Friday, we had blizzard conditions. In less than 24 hours, the sun was out, the snow melted and people were at the mall, including me. Saturday's temps reached close to 70.

Freaky.

It is supposed to be spring here even when it doesn't feel or look like it. It snows in March. Nothing is really blooming. The only resemblance of spring is a neighbor's daffodils.

This isn't the spring I know.

I miss the azaleas and the dogwoods. I miss the spring I've always known. I miss life as I knew it.

Then I read an incredible post this morning reminding me that there must be winter before there is spring.

No matter what season you are in in your life, this wonderful post by my friend (and fellow Georgia Peach) Carol will encourage you.

I think it's a great way to start your Monday.

I usually like my blizzard with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

It ain't no sissy storm.

We're under a blizzard watch. West Texas will get far worse weather than us. Our area is expected to receive up to eight inches with wind gusts up to 63 MPH and nearly zero visibility.

And suddenly I've become Jim Cantore.

Maggie, of all days, decided that she wanted to go out on the porch. She scratched and scratched and I warned her. She finally figured it out when I opened the door and snow blew in on her.

Yeah, Maggie. That's how the tougher cats live. Now go curl up on your fleece blanket on the couch. I'll join you in a minute.

My mother-in-law missed seeing this snow by about two days. She loves to visit winter. Only this snow looks too dry for snowman making and the temperature outside is a balmy 18 degrees.

Plus, with a visibility of zero, I may just make a snowman out of Maggie without knowing it.

Extreme weather conditions give me a chance to work on my Spanish.

Right now I am listening to the sweet sounds of laundry. The washing machine is up and running and I am keeping my fingers crossed. I planned to shop for one today but my daughter and I are catching up on things around here like just vegging out on the couch.

I'm also getting ready for what they say could be blizzard conditions. My only experience with blizzards is from Dairy Queen and Little House books. So I plan to stock up on coal, kerosene and ice cream.

And, yes, it is Spring Break. Someone please tell Al for me.

My in-laws and sweet niece are headed home today. I have to say that my in-laws are brave to fly the friendly skies with a 2 year-old. That, or they have suffered head injuries. I didn't fly anywhere with my daughter until she was old enough to read Sky Magazine, which was good because it helped Hubs relax.

Even though it has been a while since I've had a toddler in the house, it was a total joy. I had forgotten the things they do and say, the looks they give you when you've said "no," and the sweet way they take your hand just to walk into the next room.

It's just squishy sweetness.

And I'd forgotten how badly I wanted Barney to be extinct. My niece loves Barney and Baby Bop. I realized during the visit that I had never really watched Barney voluntarily. My daughter wasn't into the Purple Guy but she made up for it with Dora.

To this day I have a post traumatic stress reaction whenever I see a backpack.

I'm still waiting for the episode when CPS shows up because who on earth sends their kid out into the woods with a monkey and even expects her to pack her own bag?

Hello, Papa? Mama?

Every few episodes Abuela makes an appearance but it is only because she is waiting for Dora to bring her something. Grandma needs her pills.

The least she could do is bake some cookies.

Which reminds me that I should go and get ready for this blizzard. I need to check that we have plenty of staple foods like Diet Coke and snacks. I just might make some cookies. Unlike Abuela.

Mi Cookie es Su Cookie.

I refuse the Ma Ingalls look.

You know what's really great when you've let the laundry go for days? The washing machine stands up in defiance, shakes its agitated fist and quits.

But not until after you've washed an entire load of wash.

In the words of Bill O'Reilly, the spins stops right here.

I put a load of wash in the machine, went back to discover that they were all nice and clean but soaking wet. The spin cycle had died and gone to Maytag heaven.

So now Hubs and my father-in-law are tinkering in the garage, trying to fix it to hold us over a few days until we can take the time to buy a new washer.

Since I haven't bought a washing machine in 15 years, I'd like to know what y'all think. What do you like? Brands? Models?

Any tips? I'd love to hear!

Thanks, Internet Peeps.

While you were sleeping

So, it's 4:00 in the morning and the rest of my time zone is asleep. For whatever reason, I am fully awake. I tossed and turned, then turned and tossed until Maggie realized I was awake and she was suddenly starving.

She hadn't eaten in 4 hours, so she was totally in Survivor Mode. I figured at that point, I may as well get up or get mauled by a 12 year old cat who is declawed. And by mauled, I mean patted to death with her fuzzy paws. It can be quite frightening.

Maggie beat me to the kitchen. I gave her a dose of the highly addictive Elegant Medleys and I grabbed a Diet Coke for myself. Nothing helps you sleep like 16 oz. of caffeine. Then I unloaded the dishwasher.

Are you still here?

Really?

You can imagine what is on television right now. Really terrible news anchors, a Golden Girls marathon, and infomercials.

They are still trying to recruit people for The Hair Club for Men which is now called The Hair Club. Apparently, Gloria Steinem is still working on the feminist agenda and women have infiltrated another exclusive group.

On a completely unrelated note, we have been having a fun visit with my in-laws and niece. She is a total doll. She has played and played with my daughter. It is sweet to see them together.

It didn't take her long to start saying "dat" while pointing to the cat food bin in the laundry room. (Yes, sweetie that is where we keep Maggie's stash. Please don't narc on Aunt Mel.)

Maggie, on the other hand, has decided that when there is a toddler in the house it is best to remain hidden and to only come out for feedings. It's a lot like the zoo without all the smell.

Oh, and according to the infomercial, if I call now, I can speak to a hair therapist and learn how I can go swimming or stand in a wind tunnel and still have good hair.

I'm starting to think that The Hair Club President is not only a client, but also southern.

Friday's Fave Five: Spring, Glorious Spring!

Susanne has been graciously hosting Friday's Fave Five and I have planned on joining in for a while. Somehow Friday would come and I just wouldn't have my act together.

Imagine that.

Today is different. Not the having my act together part.

Here are five of my favorite things from this week.

1. Today is the first day of Spring which makes me just giddy. Even though Mama told me on the phone yesterday how beautiful the azaleas are in South Georgia and how, "bless my heart" I can't see them this year.

Sigh.

The good thing (see, I can see the glass half full) is that I may not be able to see the lovely things bloom but I also don't have to pressure wash my porch.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, indulge me for a moment. Pine pollen forms a blanket of yellow snow that you don't want to make a snowman with nor, ya know, eat. The only way to clean your porch is to wash it off which just makes a yellow sludge. It's lovely and wonderful for the allergies.

So, I'll avoid the pollen while in New Mexico and just enjoy the neighbor's daffodils.

2. Today is the day my in-laws and sweet niece arrive. My niece has a basket of books waiting for her, some new and some passed along, and a cuddly something for her to squeeze. That's all I'm saying because she may read this before she arrives. She's only two but she is smart as a whip.

3. Popsicles. My daughter loves them and this weather just begs for a popsicle after school. I found a new variety which I think may become a favorite- Breyer's Pure Fruit Berry Swirls.

4. Bible Study. I am part of a wonderful group of ladies meeting each week and focusing on the Word. We meet for only an hour but the study is pure "meat." No fluff. Just good stuff. We pray and lift each other up. It is great to be among women who are seeking to honor God.

5. Bunnies. I love them. Spring gives me an excuse to love them even more.

What was your week's Fave Five? Be sure to visit Susanne and share!

Morning Coffee

It was a Tuesday, my regularly scheduled morning to meet for coffee with a friend. I arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early, filing in line behind the other customers.

I settled into my spot, looking up at the menu, the one I've memorized. I don't know why I bother to read it; I always order the same thing.

The two of them were just ahead of me, reading the blackboard menu.

Her white hair, recently styled, softly waved against her porcelain skin, a complexion so striking next to the plum-colored sweater. With glasses and squinted eyes, she considered the menu. She drew her hand to her face in a thoughtful gesture. I saw the glimmer of a diamond band. She slipped her other hand through his arm.

He leaned in close to her face and they whispered.

He wore a plaid shirt, which I am certain was freshly pressed. Thin and tall, he stood. His face was weathered from years of working in the harsh sun. He gently patted the fair hand resting on his arm.

I wondered how many times they had stood at a counter through the years. A toddler tugging her mother's skirt, a lanky teen towering over his father's shoulders.

I thought of the many things they have ordered. Sandwiches and soups for a lunch, counting coins during hard times. A scoop of ice cream on a scorching summer day. A special dinner on an anniversary.

I considered that they must know each other's likes and dislikes. She knows how he takes his tea. He knows how she likes her coffee.

The couple finally decided and a lady across the counter filled their drink order. They wrapped worn hands around Styrofoam cups, turned, and walked away.

As I watched them leave, I smiled to myself, looking forward to the many days with my own sweet husband. I hope for moments of just standing in line together, ignoring the world around us and looking to each other.

We'll stand at a counter and read a menu. I'll slip my hand through his arm and wait. He'll order my coffee and I'll fix his tea.

Irish Breakfast with sugar. Lots of sugar.

Because He Said So

"I was in traffic, the radio on, slowing down at the stoplight, when I saw something on the car in front of me. It was bumper sticker. I could just make out the words..."

Meet me over at The Internet Cafe today for a reminder about perfect peace.

He calls me his Paper Tiger.

The Unfortunate Cheese Paper Incident caused quite a stir. I received several funny comments and a few emails. I caught Hubs reading a sympathy card.

While I was out on Saturday, Nancy brought over a surprise gift. In the bag, among a few other treats, were some cute cocktail napkins. I can't photograph them well enough for you to see and read them on here. (Thus the reason Nancy also passed along her Photoshop book.)

The napkins have a cartoon of a quirky blonde bombshell which looks exactly like me (cough, cough) and a funny quote next to her.

The original quote on this napkin is,"Excuse me? Did you talk to me before I've had my coffee?"

Nancy, in her cleverness, took her very best Sharpie and wrote over the packaging for the napkin to read, "Excuse me? Did I make Hubs' lunch before I'd had my coffee?"

And, yes. I had.

Honestly, I am not fully awake until about 8:30 AM which is unfortunate for my family's lunches and for those poor saps I pass on the road on the way to school. Look out for the yawning blonde bombshell in the Honda Pilot.

Later in the week my in-laws will be visiting along with my sweet niece. My mother-in-law sent a list of my niece's favorite foods, including cheese, but only when the paper is removed.

I'm starting to think I should just buy block cheese and slice it myself.

This is what happens when you share your life's goofs on your blog.

I always knew I was cheesy.

I'm here all day. Thankyouverymuch.

Live blogging from my couch

Hubs and I are channel surfing. Well, he is surfing since he has the remote and is complete control of the entertainment situation. I have the LapTop, so we're even.

We're watching a show about the bot fly. Wish I had not eaten that Lean Cuisine Sweet and Sour Chicken.

OK. He's watching. I'm looking away.

LaLaLaLa....not looking. Not listening.

Convinced him to change the channel. What's up with the Sunday night schedule?

Now we're watching a show with cheesy entertainers. Lady dancing. Man dancing. Now there's a man sitting on a stool on a stage wearing a white paper hat.

I look at Hubs.

Hubs says,"I wonder who painted that stool? It's gonna bug me."

Changes channel again.

"We'll come back for the credits."

Join us on Saturdays when we watch Lawrence Welk.

She offers more than meat to her household.

I want to be the Proverbs 31 Woman.

I try to layeth my hands to the spindle, even though I don't own a spindle.

I try to seeketh wool, even though it makes me itch.

I riseth up while it is still night and giveth meat to my household.

This is where I fall terribly short.

Here is the email I received from Hubs yesterday:

I really appreciate you making my lunch and everything. I know it's much more than most wives do...and I don't want to seem like a picky eater, but I usually like to take the paper divider off of the cheese BEFORE I make the sandwich. Of course I can take it off after...it just makes it tougher with all the mayonnaise already on there, or I've already halfway chewed it. But you know, no big...I'll take what I can get.


I hope my own works are not known in the gates.

Or at least not in the office.


;>)

Hair Update

Even with all of your brave and creative advice, I can't do it.

I'm either trying my stylist once more or going to a different salon.

Just can't do the AWKWARD.

Not to mention hurt feelings.

Another one goes down in wimpy, salon history.

Bizzaro World At Your Local Cut And Curl

The 6 weeks period has long passed. It's time for me to make the call, carve out a few hours of my time, write it in red Sharpie on the calendar, and make sure I have the checkbook.

Time for highlights.

There's this problem. I am not exactly sure I want to go with my regular hairdresser. I've been to her several times, long enough for her to "get to know" my hair and my quirks. The hair probation period is over.

Her work has been ehhhh acceptable, sometimes even cute. Enough to justify that entry in the checkbook?

Notsomuch.

There is another stylist I know who does amazing things with hair. I've witnessed the mastery of her cosmetology training firsthand. Her cuts are sublime! Her highlights are spectacular!

The problem is her location. She's in the next station.

Yep. The Switch.

No woman has ever successfully made The Switch from her regular stylist to another stylist in the same salon.

Maybe we've had a cut or color done by someone else when our stylist was unavailable or on vacation. Maybe. Even that is cutting it close. We've claimed a hair emergency while our stylist was out. A wedding. A class reunion. A funeral. (ours)

Yet, not one woman has ever walked into a salon, said "hello," to her old stylist, and boldly sat in the chair next to them.

It is not possible.

Urban legends speak of women who have tried to make The Switch. Somewhere in the story a woman runs out of a salon crying hysterically with unprocessed hair and a trail of foils in the parking lot. It's a switch beyond George Costanza's evil devices.

So, here is my dilemma. Keep going to my stylist? Try another salon? Or become part of an unimaginable paradox and make The Switch?

George, if you're reading, I am open to any advice.

My Love/Hate Relationship With Reality TV

I realized while talking to a friend the other day, that I have issues.

Granted, I knew before that I had issues, but this conversation revealed an entirely new one to add to the long, disturbing list.

I really do not like Reality TV.

With one exception being The Amazing Race, you could name any reality TV show here and I would find something wrong with it. It gets on my nerves. It is so staged. The people are not really real.

OK. They are real in the sense they that are upright and breathing, but other than that, they are not real. Seriously, have any of the contestants on The Bachelor served as committee chairperson for the bake sale?

I don't think so.

Which is probably why none of them are married yet. (The way to a man's heart is through a good bundt cake, or something like that.)

American Idol? I can take it or leave it. I like music and love the idea of someone's dream coming true, whether they are forced to drive a Ford or drink Coca Cola for the rest of their lives or not.

Give me a good drama, a really good drama and I am stuck in front of the tube for a solid hour, or a solid two hours, if it is a special presentation. Add in a conspiracy theory, some government agents and the American flag, and you may as well just hook up that Neilson's ratings box.

I am an X Files geek. I loved Alias. I love 24. Reality TV is so fake but the Smoking Man and Jack Bauer's superhero powers are believable. Hello.

Only Days of Our Lives could top the drama. I haven't watched it in years because it is, you know, a bit on the trashy side, but Days had me hooked in college. I can't wrap my mind around people surviving on an island without Starbucks or good soap, but everyone knows the Brady family can survive anything. (That Victor is so smug!)

24, on the other hand, is starting to make me doubt my entertainment choices. I watched it this afternoon on the wonder of the DVR. I was almost as disappointed in my 40 minute investment (fast forward thru commercials) as I am in that Roth IRA I own that is in the tank.

Not disappointed enough to stop watching, mind you. But I have a few things to say.

First of all, Agent Walker is still wearing that bandage from the bullet that grazed her neck. Would someone pause during the car chase and check that wound for her? Thankyouverymuch.

The whole infiltration of The White House? Puh-lease.

My husband is going to love this- Yes, honey. I am agreeing with you. No one's cell phone ever needs charging. Ever.

And Jack? When you are chasing bad men and tazing traitors, it's OK to take off your tie. I'm just sayin.'

The only thing left to happen on 24 is for Jack Bauer to suddenly marry Marlena, revealing that he is the real Roman, unraveling yet another DiMera conspiracy.

Now that's reality TV.

Marshmallow Chic

I love drug store make-up. Always have. Well, at least since I was about 13 years old and actually allowed to wear it. First came the lip gloss, then a little blush, then a little eye make-up, and lastly foundation. And by a little eye make-up, let me remind you that I was a teen in the 80's, so technically a little was a lot.

But enough about Bonne Bell.

I was at Walgreen's yesterday checking out the Sunday circular. Lipsticks. Buy one, get one half off. You can't beat that. I bought some lovely shades of pinks and corals with names like "Born With It" and "Rose Hush."

Lipsticks always have clever names. The idea is for you to think that you will actually look like Angelina if you wear it. You're all excited when you buy it. Then you get home, put it on and realize that the new color either washes you out or makes your teeth look yellow, which forces you to run back to the store and get whitening strips and tan in a can.

It's a vicious, cosmetic conspiracy.

After I filled my little basket with falsely advertised goodies, I strolled through the Easter aisle. I've got to get a move on. Easter is over a month away. The aisle was filled with the usuals. Marshmallow chicks, hollow chocolate bunnies (the ghetto chocolate bunny), plastic grass, and those disgusting candy dispensers that mimic an animal laying a egg.

In the middle of the aisle was a display of a new kind of Easter treat- boxes of prunes. I don't know about you, but if the Easter Bunny had brought me prunes in my basket, I would have cried.

Please, people. Don't put prunes in your child's Easter basket. I don't care how healthy you are trying to be. Just add some nice granola to the jelly beans.

Besides, giving your child an entire box of prunes with the ghetto chocolate bunny is a risk you don't want to take. That's an accident just waiting to happen. There's no porta potty at the egg hunt.

On a different and much less disturbing note, I think the cosmetic companies should visit the Easter aisle to name some of their lipsticks. There are so many interesting and fun items in all the shades of Spring.

But, "Paradise Prune" isn't one of them.

Southern Family Recipes

I put on a pot of coffee this morning, rubbed my eyes and got out all of the ingredients. Cold buttermilk, Crisco shortening, White Lily self-rising flour, and Jimmy Dean bulk sausage.

It was late morning and I was still sleepy, but I'd promised my family that I would make biscuits and gravy for breakfast. By Folgers, I was going to do just that.

Sift flour, cut in shortening, pouring in cold buttermilk, gently mixing and rolling dough in my hands and carefully dropping the biscuits in the pan. I love the feeling of making biscuits, the cold sticky dough, nearly as much as I love eating them.

Slice bulk sausage (only Jimmy for me), fry and drain on a printed paper towel. Add a little flour to the leftover sausage grease, stir to make the roux and add milk. Slowly. Stir. Add two sausage patties, crumbled, to the milky gravy, simmering until nearly perfect. (If I do say so myself.)

Then I call my family, the most precious in the world to me, and we pull out our chairs, scoot up to the table to the smell of warm biscuits, hot gravy and sausage, cold butter, and sweet strawberry preserves.

Saying our blessings. Thanking God for all He's given us. Like cold buttermilk, Crisco shortening, White Lily flour, and Jimmy Dean sausage.

And all of the memories that go along with them.

What's in the bag?

TRS of Single Solitary Things tagged me for the purse meme a while back. I am so slow at these things, but alas I am posting.

The idea is to describe all the things that are in your purse. It is a good thing the meme does not ask the husbands to describe what is in their wife's purse. My husband would make up weird things that could be in there. He would never really know what is in there. He says it's scary.

I just changed purses to the pink and green Vera Bradley I bought last Spring. It has been in the 80's here in SmallTown and I needed some bright cheery colors. The winter blahs are, well, blah.

So here goes. What's in my purse-

1. My wallet. It is red. I bought a red wallet a few years ago because I was tired of searching for it in a big bag. Unless I carry a red purse or cut my hand and bleed profusely in my purse, I will always be able to find this wallet.

2. Several tubes of lipstick in the peachy, pink and reddish families. Plus, one neutral. Always Be Prepared is not just the Boy Scout motto.

3. Receipts. Lots of them. Mostly from the grocery store because the cashiers INSIST on handing me the receipt instead of putting it in the grocery bag. Of course, they are not to blame for the fact that I never clean out of my purse.

4. Monopoly game cards from the same grocery store. (We have one major chain grocery store here. I'm in a rut.)

5. Lint. I will never understand how lint gets in my purse. Where does it come from? It's not like I carry a beach towel in there.

6. Various pens which may or may not have ink in them.

7. Cover Girl compact in Creamy Natural.

8. A Kleenex. (unused.)

9. Cell phone that needs charging.

10. Trident whitening gum, peppermint flavor.

That's about it. Boring but not scary.

I was hoping I would find a money clip with hundred dollar bills but that would be in some other woman's purse. And I don't make a habit of looking in other women's purses. You could get arrested for that.

Want to play along with the purse meme? Leave a link in the comments.

I may have splinters in the windmills of my mind, but I know a seven when I see one.

Mama has a photo album filled with faded pictures of my childhood. It's an old, magnetic album purchased long before archive-quality glue and acid free paper. The pictures have been in the album so long that I wouldn't dare try to rescue them from the yellow pages for fear that they would just fall apart.

Most of those pictures capture me on the swing set or posed on the bicycle, dressed in Bug Off jeans and bright knee socks with sandals. One picture in particular is of me pretending to be one of my all-time favorite comediennes as one of her all-time best characters.

Carol Burnett as Mrs. Wiggins.

I loved Carol Burnett. I spent many afternoons after school copying her characters- Mrs. Wiggins, Stella and Eunice.

One of my favorite scenes from the show is the skit of Eunice, Mama and Ed playing Sorry, as Eunice says "a nice little parlor game." So when Hubs recently came home with a game of Sorry for our family (ours is the updated SpongeBob version!) I couldn't help but think of Eunice and her little yellow men.

Hubs didn't remember the Sorry skit for the show, so when we started to play and I'd say, "Sorrrryyyy!" and "Sliiiiiiide," he looked at me like someone had blown out my pilot light. Eventually I found the skit on YouTube and Hubs and daughter watched.

Before no time, my daughter searched for a bell in our house for us to ring during the game. Hubs started to say, "Sliiiiide" just like Ed, and I just had to laugh out loud.

I told my friend Nancy about it all over coffee this morning and promised to send her a clip of the old skit. She said that she'd really like for me to set up a video camera and record my family playing the game.

I told her that would not be as entertaining as Carol Burnett. Just odd.

And being the loving, loyal friend she is, she agreed with me.

To my sweet family, I love playing nice little parlor games with you, making memories at the coffee table. As for me influencing you into doing new weird antics and strange expressions, Sorrrryyy!

Go here to watch the first half of the Sorry Episode; look for Part 2 in the side banner.

Tired

I am a passionate person. I feel fully, give freely and commit completely. You will never wonder where I stand on an issue. If there is a choice to make, I can make it. Whether it is a paint color, new pair of shoes or a politician, I know what I like and I know what I don't like.

Unfortunately, the people around me know, too.

This may seem like a positive trait, especially to those who stand in the paint aisle for hours looking at swatches.

But it's not. Let me tell you. Having a definite opinion means that when there is an issue at hand, that opinion flames up. That passion for the cause drains every ounce of energy, mentally and physically.

It'll wear you slap out.

What I'm trying to stay is that I'm tired.

I'm tired of the news.

I'm tired of wondering where my family's savings is going. Wondering how (not if) my daughter will bear the debt of a spending spree so flippantly approved with the stroke of a pen.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of people trying to make me feel guilty for using plastic.

I'm tired of people saying I'm a bad mother for using chemicals to clean my house.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of Al Gore screaming that he's too hot.

I'm tired of watching my government completely ignore half of the country and pandering to the half that got them elected.

I'm. Tired.

So if you stop by here and I sound like my feathers are ruffled, well it's because they are.

And if you stop by and I'm not here for a day or so, it will be because I just took myself a nap, a respite from the madness.

Right after I put all my money under the mattress.

It's not what's for dinner.

Your comments about mail order meat made me laugh out loud. I never knew how fun beef could be.

The other day there was a knock at the door. I could see some sort of truck out front and a man standing on our doorstep. I usually don't open the door for strangers unless they are dressed in brown, but I could see the work truck in the street.

I opened the door and a gentleman asked me,"This is going to sound strange, but do you eat steak?"

Blank stare from me.

He pointed to a logo on his shirt and said,"I'm from insert quirky company title here. Would you like to buy some steaks?"

I completely interrupted, "I'm not interested."

"Are you sure? Steak? Fish? Chicken?" he pleaded, "it's half price."

"No thanks," I said and closed the door.

He turned and walked next door to the next unsuspecting housewife.

First the emails. Now they are trying to sell meat to me door-to-door. Really. This is getting a little creepy. Who knows what kind of E. Coli outbreak could be in the back of that truck.

Besides, my mother always taught me never to take meat from strangers.