Dear Door-to-Door Salesman, Go Away
Why? Why do you knock on my door, causing the dog to bark, which wakes up the baby, which sends my morning into a tailspin? Why do you think that I will open my door for you? In my bathrobe. With a 2 year old in my arms. When you look just a teensy bit like you could be a convict. I don’t want your vacuum cleaners, your magazine subscriptions, your window washing services. And when I wave you away through the window, don’t stand there defiantly, angrily. Go. Go away now. I don’t like you. Goodbye.
P.S. That is not my front door, but isn’t it cute?