There was a knock on our door this afternoon.
David went to answer it.
Man at the door: "Are your parents around? I'm selling steaks, it's a great deal."
Taken aback, David said "No, no they're not."
He was telling the truth, because well, they're in South Carolina and all, but it's an interesting way to be able to get rid of solicitors.
But sheesh. He's 31, not 12, even though he looks young, a fact that is undeniable and extremely obvious. A fact that 99% of people that we meet feel impelled to point out, each adding the identical caveat that "people must tell you that all the time". More than once I have been asked if he's my son, even though when I am alone I am regularly accused of being in my high teens or low twenties. More than once someone has told the girls what a nice big brother they have. 14-year-old girls hit on him, right in front of me, making me thank God that he is not a pervert. He has a slim build and is boyishly handsome, if I do say so myself, and I get the confusion, but good gravy!
It's pretty funny that the same people who wouldn't dream of pointing out someone's bad skin or missing limb or pot belly can exclaim ad nauseum about someone's extreme height or GIANT pregnant belly (complete with a thorough fondling) or shockingly young looking face without realizing that its just as rude.
But whatever, we're pretty used to it (and I say "we're" because people who actually do think it might be rude to mention David's youthful appearance to him, have no boundaries at all when it comes to me.), so this business with the salesman at our door mostly goes into the category of Things That are Annoying, but Kind of Boring.
Except I'm now trying to think of ways to use this to my advantage!