we'll take one humble pie, mr. schwan's guy

Every other Wednesday evening, the Schwan's man stops by our house wondering if we're interested in placing an order. He's a diligent worker, if nothing else, because he's been stopping by our house for almost two years, and for almost two years, he's been getting the same answer:

"No, thank you. We just went went grocery shopping." OR "No, thank you, we don't own a deep freezer and our other freezer is absolutely stuffed." Good bye!

I cringe every time I see this...

...pull up in front of my house. You're probably asking yourself the same question I ask myself every time I hear the big yellow truck roar into our neighborhood: Why don't you just tell the poor guy to stop coming? It would certainly save him some time in his busy night and it would save us the hassle of saying NO! Well, I have a very bad answer to that very good question...

My husband and I are wimps! We feel bad telling him we don't want to order anything every time he stops, but for some twisted reason, we'd feel worse telling him to stop coming by our house! We've grown accustomed to seeing his smiley face every other Wednesday and he's such a nice guy! We'd hate to hurt his feelings by telling him we never want to see him again!

Well, we thought we almost solved this problem on its' own, when, a couple weeks ago, Mr. Schwan's guy made his ever-faithful pit-stop.

The doorbell rings at 7:00pm sharp, I hear the roaring truck outside, and my arms are elbow deep in dirty dishwater.

Me: "Hubby, can you answer the door and tell him we're not interested in buying anything tonight (no surprise there)?"

Hubby: "No way! I had to tell the guy "No" last time he stopped. It's your turn!"

Me: "NO! I don't want to! I'm busy doing dishes, you do it! Go out there, please, and tell him no!"

Hubby: "I'm not doing it." By this time we're practically wrestling around the kitchen. "You do it!" "No, you do it" "YOU DO IT! I'm not telling him NO! I always have to!" "No, YOU!" This went on and on for several more seconds, when finally, I gave him a really good and hard push and my hubby ends up in the living room.

There, standing in our entry way, holding his brochures and order form, was Mr. Schwan's guy. (See, while my hubby and I were wrestling over who'd answer the door and tell him "no," Ella apparently answered the door and let him inside...you know, just being the polite little girl we taught her to be.).

Hubby, clearing throat and donning his most polite smile: "Oh, hi! How are you?"

Mr. Schwan's guy: "Hey, I'm good...So (awkward pause), would you be interested in ordering anything?" I'm pretty sure he knew the answer to that, but felt compelled to ask it anyway.

Hubby, calling to me in the other room: "Honey, do we need anything tonight?" I guess it's on me, after all...

Me, trying to sound cheery: "No, I think we're fine!"

Hubby: "I think we're fine, then."

Mr. Schwan's guy: "Well, ok. Have a good night then!"

Hubby: "Thanks, you too."

Tails between our legs, we were at least a little relieved knowing we likely wouldn't be seeing any of Mr. Schwan's guy again...or would we?

Two weeks later, 7:00pm sharp, door bell rings. He's back.

Hubby, answering door: "Oh, HI!"

Mr. Schwan's guy: "Hi! Interested in buying anything tonight?"

Hubby: "Oh, why not...We'll take a box of drumsticks, an apple pie and one of your turtle pies..."

Mr Schwan's guy: "GREAT! I'll be right back."

He wore us down after all. Even though I always knew he was good at his job, I realized that night, he was great at his job.