This isn’t the only blog I’ve ever had. In my time I’ve had a few. One, on LiveJournal I started back before the turn of the milennium. When LJ was bought out by Russian venture capitalists and started to turn the place into some byzantine nightmare, I, and a lot of people that blogged like me, thought like me, decided it was time to leave. Of course, the year before I had purchased a ‘permanent’ account when the previous management offered them. So, as long as the site stays active, I have an account there. Can’t bear to delete it. Even so, in the interests of protecting what I have, I moved the entire content of the blog over to another server, called Dreamwidth. And there it sits. I thought though, since I have that repository, I’d every now and again repost something. So here’s one from 2015.
[C stands for Christabel, my wife. It’s a nom de plume, she started using it when we were both on Compuserve, way back in the 1990s when we first met. Pre-Internet. Yes, there was such a time.]
Who do you open the door for?
C was upstairs this afternoon when the doorbell rang. Since I normally work days (and have for the last 18 months) I’m usually not home when this happens. I answered the door after peeking from the nearby window and was greeted by 2 people on the doorstep. 1 man, 1 woman. They were representatives of C’s insurance company and they wished to come in and go over some ‘exciting options‘ that she was apparently unaware of. It just so happened that C was in the shower so I wasn’t dishonest when I said that she was unavailable. But they persisted, and I agreed that it would be best if they returned tomorrow, around noon.
About 10 minutes later, C came downstairs and I informed her of our visitors. She wasn’t pleased that I had opened the door. Apparently I’m ‘too nice’ and shouldn’t be opening the door to strangers..of any ilk. The front door is for people that we know and expect. No one else! So tomorrow, when the insurance people return..no one’s going to be opening the door. Least of all me. If they’re upset, then they’re just going to have to live with it.
Yep, I married her folks. Hands off.