I should have known better than to open the door. Meanwhile, one would think as soon as these people see my monster dogs through the glass storm door (particularly Tater, who likes to show teeth and who has a bark like a freight train and is not afraid to use it) they would turn tail. I should be so lucky.
I always tell them, "You might as well stop coming here, I will NEVER be a Witness." They always counter with "Never say never," smile, then throw copies of the Watchtower at me. I decided on the spot to make a "No Missionaries" sign for my door. Maybe they'll take the hint next week when they come back, since the dogs are not working as a deterrent.
Missionaries don't just annoy me, mind you...they down right piss me off. By the way, this also applies to Missionary Baptists and Mormons, all of whom are really big into the religion-pushing scene. I hate to have anything pushed on me, let alone religion. Besides, shouldn't they be trying to save someone who is essentially religionless? Shouldn't they be targeting houses with gargoyles and pentagrams, for instance?
So, the need to make a fresh sign forced me to leave my house for Hobby Lobby for a sign-making crap purchase.
While I was out, I went to Costco, since it's a block away from Hobby Lobby and the chickens were calling me. I felt compelled to buy a rotisserie chicken..don't ask me why, since I have no idea myself. I only eat chicken breasts - always. It's a texture thing, I think. So I buy the stupid chickens, bring them home, eat the breast, then throw the rest away. I figure it's worth paying $5 to have somebody cook a chicken for me. On the plus side, I hate chicken that is riding the cusp of becoming sawdust at any minute. Costco chickens are never overdone.
Of course Costco is in the holiday spirit and at the end of every row was a food pusher. You've seen them. They're *demonstrating* various food items. What that means is they're handing out samples. You can't get away from them no matter how hard you try.
Today they had tiny hot dogs on tiny buns. They were cute. I desperately wanted one, but managed to abstain. In the next aisle was the fruity yogurt pusher. I bought an astounding two quarts of plain Greek yogurt instead, which I hope I can eat before it expires or explodes or grows something furry.
Then there was the smoked sausage pusher, and the granola bar pusher, the flavored mashed potato pusher, and the pumpkin pie and whipped cream pusher, the chocolate baklava pusher, the imported belgian cookie pusher, and the Noni juice pusher (whatever the hell that is - doesn't matter I ain't buyin' it).
And then...and then....I spied the jarred, artichoke heart halves pusher. I gunned my handi-cart and made for the artichokes. So far there had been nothing there that was safe for me to eat - even in small quantities. All those little bites add up fast, and I am limited to a ridiculously low number of fat grams per day. I roll up to the artichoke demo cart and to my dismay, the damned things were packed in oil. How DARE they? Bastard pushers!
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