I did something today that I never do: I deliberately didn’t answer my doorbell. I hid in my office with the shades drawn until the callers went away.
I knew who was at the door. I’d seen the members of a religious group going from house to house on my street. I was in no mood to deal with proselytizers. I know a simple “no, thanks” will suffice, but I couldn’t bring myself to do even that. My behavior was shallow and rude, but I have excuses:
1) I hate when people sell religion door-to-door. It’s not dignified.
2) I was writing the last few pages of a new novel and in no state to be disturbed.
3) I was still in my pajamas.
I did go out later and bring in their folded religious tract. (Some sort of biblical miracle that it hadn’t blown away in today’s wind.) The front was a painting of Jesus, so the tract looked somewhat like a baseball card.
I was surprised to find that the artwork showed a much different Jesus than the skinny hippie depictions of my youth. Same beard, but this Jesus has shorter hair, puffy, like you’d find on a game-show host. He’s tanned and fit, kind of buff, really, and he looks familiar. The longer I stared at him, the more he looked like Tom Cruise.
I thought Tom Cruise played for a different team altogether.
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