To put this as subtly as possible, lets just say that I was dressed, but not completely pulled together. After I'd rushed my mom off the phone and whispered a stern, "Get away FROM the DOOR." I took off past the front door myself and headed up the stairs to put on my necessary under garment. Passing Jenna's room I realized she was awake and crying, and I stopped in to pick up her up out of her crib. I flew back down the steps, unlocked the door and standing outside the storm door was a little man who must have been 80 years old.
There I stood, greasy hair in a sloppy ponytail, and breath that should've knocked him off his
He stared back at me a bit in disbelief that I looked so pitiful at nearly 10:00 and a bit more irritated that he had stood in the cold for 4 minutes waiting for THIS to come to the door. He cleared his throat and said, "Uh, yes, my name is Mr. Brown and this is Mr. Mumph." I couldn't understand what he said the man on our sidewalks name was, but he gave a nod. "We want to give you a pamphlet about the Jehovah Witnesses."
As he reached into his leather case I said, "Well, thank you but I am not interested." He started to say something, but thought better of it when he saw me suddenly surrounded by my two other big, blue eyed pajama clad clan. I guess, we looked pretty
I must say, I didn't even make sure he made it down the porch steps before I closed the door, I figured Mr. Mumph had that covered.
Sadly, this story did make me think that many days this is how my sweet hubby often finds us. All frumpy, running to the door to greet him. And he loves us just the way we are.