Yes, it's true. I almost just attacked a college-age boy trying to sell pest control services. He didn't catch me at my finest moment.
I had decided to clean.
This is rare.
I'm not a model of domesticity, but when I look around and realize the dog could probably survive for 48 hours foraging the scraps and crumbs on the floor, I take action.
Out came the vacuum, the bucket, and the sad excuse for a mop. Needless to say, I believe this was the mop's final mop and it's now on its way to the Swiffer team for the "mop in the garage/attic" casting call. It will NAIL the part.
Now, I don't clean much, but when I do, I give Cinderella a run for her money. Dustballs fly, sticky fingerprints come up, and sometimes I don a 1950s-style housedress to help me stay in the proper fram of mind.
Today, the dog stayed timidly behind me instead of retreating to his position under the stairs. This was lucky, or so I thought as I furiously mopped the area next to the front door and heard a knock on the door.
Looking through the peephole, I saw what I thought was a FedEx man awaiting my signature. Mop in hand, hair flying everywhere, pseudo housedress on, I opened the door and tried to block the innocent package deliverer from my ferocious Golden.
"He's going to run out," I warned the FedEx man, "give me the clipboard fast and I'll sign."
"Uhhhhh," the boy said to the crazy lady in front of him as she saw there was no package in his hand nor truck in the street.
My eyes narrowed, my grip on the dog's collar tightened, and I asked, "Who are you? What do you want?" all the while thinking, "God, please don't let this be a Jehovah! I don't want to waste my cleaning energy on this."
He explained he was with a pest control company.
I explained I was busy and not interested.
He asked if he could come back.
I said no so he kept talking.
I told him I had pest control covered.
He told me my neighbor said the same thing but was willing to give him a chance.
The dog, who usually runs outside with the force of a locomotive, circles the poor delivery man and snarls and lunges like a damn wolf, took this time to wag his tail and ask Mr. Pest Control to continue. "You asked me to eat a bug the other day," the dog said to me with his way-too-friendly eyes.
"I did!" I yelled back, "and then I called Orkin. What are you doing with the friendly tail?!"
As the young boy at my door launched into his company's selling points, I brought the mop uncomfortably close to him and then used it to emphasize the following phrase:
" I. Can't. Do This. Now. The Dog Will Run Out."
Then I shoved the dog back inside the house and shut the door on Mr. Pest Control. As it turns out, the dog, the mop and I are pretty good at keeping pests away.