When Lydia visited us the last time in Idaho Falls, everything went as usual. We had fun, played games in the evening, spoiled grandchildren and most importantly, we either went to a movie or watched something on TV in the evenings.
I'm not the type of person, who enjoys being rude. Oh, did I really say that, because there are actually times, when it is fun. There's something about the look on a person's face, when they say or do something incredibly stupid, something especially rude. I am a Christian, but sometimes I feel that being a good member of the order means helping Karma find it's way to those, who really deserve it.
What can I say other than emphasizing the shit really does happen. You hope it happens more often to those who deserve it.
But it doesn't. Look at Donald Trump. Making billions of dollars allows him to live in kitsch with a very bad haircut. I could never get away with that. Well I do have a bad haircut, but I'm not even half as rich as The Donald.
One night about 7:00 in the evening, a knock happens at the door. I put the movie on pause and listen to the voice. Kristin answers. She is the nice person in the family.
A representative from "Yummy Meats" is there, and as usual, he says that we are so lucky to find ourselves being disturbed by him. Why he was in the area to deliver meat, and someone wasn't home, so he has a deal for us.
I've had that deal before. I mean I am old and all, and I know that politicians think it's alright for me, as a retired person living on my pension and Social Security payments I supported all my working life, to eat canned meats made especially for dogs and cats living in Beverly Hills, but that doesn't mean that I intend on doing that. And I won't do "Yummy Meats" for that reason.
Kristin tries to tell the nervy salesman we're not interested, but he won't listen. He's pushing to get into the house to fill my freezer with the crap he has in a large box on his shoulder.
The TV is already on pause. "We're not interested," I say loudly turning toward the door.
"But you have to try this." The sales dude tries to give me his "Spiel," but I've been on that road to nowhere before.
"No, we've already eaten your product, and it isn't good, and it's twice as expensive as anything in a store."
The salesperson tries to interrupt. Lydia puts her hands over her ears. "I'm not hearing this," she says out loud. "La. La. La. La." Lydia is singing this weird song in a monotone, something I've not heard before, but she's singing loudly, and then she repeats herself. "I'm not hearing this."
I'm still being me. "Bye now," I am still looking over my shoulder and talking loudly. The salesman is still trying to get past he front door to my freezer. "No, go away now! We're really not interested in your poor quality product.
Lydia still has her hands over hear hears, and she puts her head between her knees, which press firmly trying to drown out my comments. I hear her mantra: "La, La, La, La."
The door shuts.
"Oh, my gosh Dad," she says. I put the movie back on play. She laughs. She shakes her head from side to side. Kristin joins us to watch the movie. They smile at each other, which leads me to believe, that I have become like the two old guys in the balcony in The Muppet Show.
But at least I don't have to eat "yummy" steak or chicken or whatever it is, when I can't tell the difference.
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