Nebulous Mooch

The other day I was cooking dinner when there was a knock on the door. No one else in the house seemed to have heard it, so I answered it. As soon as I opened the door the young woman on my doorstep said, “There you are! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day. Where have you been?”

I stood there confused for a few seconds trying to place her face in my mind. Then I finally said, “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t know you.”

“You’re American,” she said. All the solicitors feel the need to point that out to me. “Where in American are you from?”

I furrowed my brow and thought about the onions that must be burning on the stove by now and said, “I still don’t know who you are.”

Well, it turned out that I didn’t know her. She was a solicitor trying to get me to switch gas companies. I let my husband deal with it because I could tell her spiel would take a long time and I was trying to cook dinner.

A half hour later, I was putting dinner on the table and my husband was still talking to her. When he finally finished, he came into the kitchen and said, “I hope you don’t mind. I changed our gas company.”

I don’t mind at all. I changed our gas company last month and ever since I did I was afraid that it was a horrible mistake. We still haven’t received our first bill from that company. I’m glad my husband made the switch this time. Now if we start getting incredibly high gas bills it can be his fault, not mine.

I was walking down the street this morning and I passed a charity shop–that’s a thrift store to all my American friends. As we passed the store, I turned to my husband and said, “Once we have lots of money, I’m going to start shopping at thrift stores.”