Go Tell it on The Mountain and The Neighborhood Streets of Long Beach

Hello chickens. I just want to preface this entire post by saying I in no way have anything against people of any religion that send people door to door to preach. I do think it is respectable to be that dedicated to your beliefs...so with that being said.

So a few weeks ago, there was a knock at the door and Adam answered it, as I hid in the back room. I wasn't hiding in the back room for any particular reason other than the fact I can be really socially anxious. So when I hear a knock at the door, my head starts screeching, "STRANGER DANGER, STRANGER DANGER." Plus, when there is a knock at the door, I seriously don't know what will be going on on the other side. I'm not even kidding. Yes, we have the run of the mill door to door people, but we also have some random junk peddlers and even a door-to-door strawberry salesmen. He is unsurprisingly concerned with making sure I get my appropriate servings of fruits and vegetables everyday.

Adam is exceedingly nice in these situations, and I truly love him for it. Although it is truly surprising how nice he is in these situations, being that he is such a curmudgeon. A lovable curmudgeon, but still a curmudgeon. I am exceedingly awkward in this situations because my cripplingly social anxiety gets paired with trying to find an extremely kind way to say, I'm not interested". Anyway, Adam talked to them for at least 20 minutes. 20 whole minutes of me cowering in the back room. 20 whole minutes where he never even mentioned he wasn't interested in conversion. As we are so fond of saying in the South, "God bless his heart."

After they left, I told Adam they would be back. He was certain they wouldn't. But as I often am, I was right. And the missionaries dutifully came back every weekend for the last month. And again, Adam never politely turned them away (he truly is a kind man, but still a curmudgeon). But then last Saturday, there was a knock at the door. It was them. Adam ducked down to hide, and gestured to me to have me pause the TV. Usually people leave after 30 seconds when you don't open a door. But these people kept knocking and knocking, and we could hear them talking about how Adam was a good candidate for conversion. Finally, they stopped knocking. But continued to talk about Adam (I only know this because Adam was standing on the bath tub, listening to them through the window LOL) for five minutes.

I started getting annoyed because I really wanted to get back to watching my DVRed episode of The Rachel Zoe Project (I really needed to know what she was going to do when she found out her clients couldn't wear white to The Oscars. Really compelling stuff, people!). I told Adam I wasn't going to hide in my house every weekend, so I would be really nice, but I was going to take care of it. He just kind of shrugged his shoulders. OK, so little ole social anxiety riddled me, step outside in my pink pjs and leopard print slippers to talk to them.

I opened the door, and they look slightly surprised. I employed my Southern Accent (cause Southern Accents equal sweetness) and the nicest tone I could muster, and told them that my husband had just been trying to be nice, but that we were Baptists and not really interested in converting. She told us she wasn't interested in converting us (umm I just heard her say SHE was, but I left that out) but just wanted to share some scripture with us. I just thanked her, told her I went to church often, and have read the bible.

I guess she was done talking to me, and wanted to talk to nice, sweet, and meek Adam.
But instead of simply asking me if she could talk to Adam (or even if he was home), she yelled over my shoulder, into the house, "ADAM! Are you in there?!" As if I had Adam chained in the backroom. As if I was the mean wife that doesn't allow her husband to speak for himself. I told them Adam was in the bathroom, which I'm sure they thought was a lie. Since I obviously had him locked in my underground torture chamber, where I pipe show tunes in, all day long, on full blast (his least favorite type of music), and feed him all the icky vegetables he hates. But that was actually the honest to Bob truth, since he was listening to the conversation through the bathroom window. They finally left, muttering something about coming back. Probably to rescue Adam.

I was worried that I hadn't been nice, but Adam said I had been. Adam said next time they come, he is going to answer the door all shaky and slip them a note, telling them when they can come back and save him from his tortuous existence. I just want to know how ME, who is nice to a fault, and scared of everyone, and never even complains when waiters get my order wrong, gets labeled as the mean, forceful one in this relationship. I'm the one always trying to pull him over to my annoyingly optimistic sunny side of the street where it rains lollipops and puppies.