Everything is Significant

(unless it's not)

The irony of it all is that I'm really more of an ass man
Count Orlock can't find his keys
"Whoa ... hey, man ... nice shirt!  Says it all right there!"

These were the first words said to me by a college-aged door-to-door salesman who was trying to sell me windows. 

The shirt in question boldly reads "I <3 BOOBS".

Now, I understand that, in the course of his job, it was this kid's A-No.-1 Priority to establish some sort of rapport between himself, the salesman, and myself, the potential customer.  I understand that.  He was just doing his job.

But ... really ... the shirt?  Not "Whoa ... hey, man ... I like your house!"  (We did just get the entire exterior refurbished this summer, and lots of people have complimented us on it.)  Not "How 'bout them Buckeyes?"  (In Ohio, always an appropriate statement.)  Not even "Hey, that's an interesting shirt!  Is there a story behind it?"  (In fact, the shirt is a memento of my fraternity's support of the campus sororities' fundraising efforts on behalf of breast cancer research.  Some of you reading this might still have or once had this same shirt.)

But no.  That's not what our young man went with.  He went with "Nice shirt!  Says it all right there!"

Had I been thinking more clearly, I probably would have said something like "Breast cancer research is no joke, son," because, well, it's not.  As it was, I pretty much just glared the boy into submission until he finally got down to business and told me why he was wasting my time. 

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm without humor.  But if you're coming to my door and trying to sell me something, start yourself off on the right foot.  Boobs are not the right foot.


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