Are We There Yet?

Some people have a fear of confined spaces, some have a fear of heights, and some fear that a small insect will set up shop on their eardrum and slowly drive them mad.

Do you know what I fear? A door-to-door salesman.

Take the other day for instance, when my dear and sweet nephew phoned and asked if he could stop by and pay me a visit. At first I was flattered to say the least.

I couldn't help patting myself on the back for being the kind of aunt on whom a young man makes a social call. I had already invited him to come over, when he dropped the bomb by explaining that he was now working in sales and wanted to show me his line of appliances, gadgets, and high-tech doodads that would make my housekeeping a breeze.

Not that I don't need wares at discounted prices, mind you. I just loathe the idea of a peddler on the front stoop. Therefore, I quickly began a series of excuses.

"We already have everything that I need to keep house, Ralphie. The carpets are free of undergrowth, my leather is polished, and if our bathrooms get any cleaner, the children may become sick due to lack of exposure to bacteria."

"I've seen your bathrooms, Aunt Lori," Ralphie contested, "and you're going to need every gadget I can offer."

You should know that I rocked Ralphie through his colicky period. I wiped his nose and powdered his behind, so I knew there was no way that this snot-nosed kid was going to pull one over on his good old Aunt Lori. What I wasn't prepared for was the boss who showed up at his side with slicked-back hair and a smile as menacing as a ventriloquist's dummy.

"We won't be buying anything today," I explained as I opened the front door.

"Oh, that's just fine," said the boss, "we simply want you to see this amazing machine that's only 7 days old. In fact," he continued and leaned in as if he were about to tell me a secret, "you're one of the first people to see it."

Well! Won't that make all of my friends green with envy? I could just see it now. "Hey girls, guess what I saw today! That's right, the latest in the long line of make-'em and break-'em doodads and gadgets. Are ya jealous?"

Talk about your crowd pleasers!

Once Ralphie and his boss got their boxes unloaded and spread a myriad of steel and plastic contraptions across the floor, they looked around my unkept home and explained that it was time to educate me on the world of high-tech home appliances.

Oh, how have I lived this long and remained so ignorant?

"This here gadget slices, it dices, and in a pinch, it'll even do your laundry," Ralphie boasted as he held fast to the dream that this was going to turn into a real sale. "It shampoos your carpets, cleans your windows, and for an entertaining encore, it doubles as a dance partner when your children are dateless for the prom."

Then he really started picking up steam.

"Are your muscles tired at the end of the day? Do your feet long for a massage and your shoulders ache with use? Then howdy, Bob, do I have the contraption for you! For if you unplug an attachment here, remove an implement there and snap in this easy-to-use apparatus - why this here device doubles as a full-blown massaging machine!"

You can almost imagine my amazement at the thought. I could just picture myself at the end of a harsh and long workday. As I settled down into the chair and longed for the tension to go, one of my boys would, without a doubt, approach me with our new, fancy machine and say, "Here, Mom, let me massage away the worries of your day with our new high-falutin' contraption."

"I'm not buying the device, Ralphie," I said for the umpteenth time. "I don't like it, don't want it, and don't have a bazillion bucks lying around in a bank account somewhere with a personal banker who is begging me to spend it."

"If you won't do it for yourself," his boss interjected in a hushed tone, "do it for the children. Your appliances are in a state of disrepair, the motors are shot, and I dare say they're a safety hazard for all that use them."

Then as if on cue, his eyes welled up with tears as he choked back a sob.

"Surely you love your family more than this."

And some people worry about ear weevils.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.