I forgot to talk about the visitors we received on Saturday morning before we headed out for our day on the town. This was just too funny, in hindsight, to not mention. Caragh and I were both in full flight trying to get the twins fed, diapers changed, boobs pumped, diaper bag packed, stuff and such in the car, us dressed in “going outside clothes”, and then out the door before the entire process has to begin again…for the third time…
And then the doorbell rings. Caragh came to the door still in her pyjamas with her bra on over her pyjama top and Story under her arm, flailing and screaming because her personal nipple has been taken out of her mouth. I came to the top of the stairs after hurriedly throwing on my cheetah thong and Caragh’s short, pink housecoat.
The guy at the door in his navy blue suit and his impeccably dressed child both look at Caragh, smile and then look at me, doing a full-on-North-South scan of my queer apparel. Smile becomes a bit wan but never deserts him.
He starts by saying, “I see you have children,” as he looks down at the Diaper Genie bag of shitty diapers, a bag that looks eerily similar to a monstrous sausage laying on the porch. I think to myself, glad the crows and raccoons didn’t open it up yet…I better make sure that bag of shit gets in the garbage can in the shed before I leave today.
Caragh shoots daggers at this blandly grinning proselytizer. “I have twins I am trying to feed them right now. I’m not interested.” as she begins to close the door.
This guy, not yet recognizing the dangerous terrain he has just ventured into, says, “Well maybe you would be interested in rea-”
“I DON”T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!” and then BOOM the door closes with his copy of the Watchtower wedged in the closed door.
From the top of the stairs I blithely say, “Are we having visitors today, Honey?”