A couple of weeks ago, while enjoying my morning coffee, I spied a piece in a well-known newspaper.
It had to have been on a weekend or a day off, because I was peacefully enjoying one of my favorite combinations of breakfast and a real, live, crinkly newspaper.
I will have to paraphrase as I do not recall any exact quotes.
But the author extolled the joy of just popping in on friends.
Big fat NO!
This innocent and excellent writer had realized that he was close to a friend’s home. I think it was a Sunday morning. And so he decided to pop in on his friends. He, at least, had the forethought to bring food and, as I recall, champagne.
He went on to describe his visit. He believed himself to be welcomed heartily by the family, and somebody climbed down the stairs after being awakened from bed to greet the writer.
In his ingenuous mind, he actually thought this was a wonderful way to connect with friends and loved ones!
He had not called in advance to warn his unsuspecting victims of the impending incursion.
He had not texted in advance.
He had not even used a telephone or mobile apparatus.
And he had not even sent a carrier pigeon … or the Pony Express … or some sort of warning … so they could ignore the door, if they so desired, and achieve a few more minutes of sleep … or privacy … or serenity.
Were this to happen Sunday morning, before noon, in the Curmudgeon home …
I, or a member of the household, without thinking, possibly contemplating a package from Amazon … staggers to the door.
Every hair on the head sprays out at a unique angle.
Pajamas or nightshirt is rumpled.
Eyes are half closed.
Yawns occur in rapid succession.
And what is there on the doorstep?
Not a package.
A human being with a bag of bagels and a grin on his or her face.
“Hope the coffee is on,” says this hapless soul, with a smile.
A Curmudgeon family member stares in disbelief.
This cannot be happening.
Definitely still dreaming.
Or more accurately: A nightmare!