For days now, we have been plagued with visitors attempting to solicit votes for various political figures in the upcoming election.
Last night, while cleaning up from dinner, the doorbell rang and immediately set off our second-line of defense: hyper-active and very vocal dogs. Leaving the man on dish-duty, I moved about the excited dogs and cracked open the front door.
A young, tiny, beaming girl stood on the porch cradling a clip-board. She cheerily greeted me and introduced herself along with her organization. "I'm wondering if I could speak to Harold, please?"
"Harold? No, I'm sorry; You have the wrong address. I guess that man no longer lives here."
I closed the door and headed back in to the kitchen.
"Who was that?" He was still diligently scrubbing.
"Some political solicitor. You know, I think we need a "No Soliciting" sign. They've been coming around a lot. But they're asking for some dude named Harold, so it gives me an easy-out." I smiled broadly at him.
The look that passed between us elongated into an almost awkward moment. "Unless," I began, "they are asking for Jerald but think that since your first name is spelled with a J, you're hispanic and they're trying to respectfully pronounce it correctly."
Our abrupt laughter scared the dogs.