Bothersome

Bothersome

“I’m sorry to bother you. But do you have any sugar?”

The woman looked at me over her mask. She slammed her door in my face. So much for being a helpful neighbor.

“I’m sorry to bother you. But do you have any grey pupon?”

Another person slammed the door in my face, but not before sputtering at me.

“What? Where is your gray puppy? Get out of my yard!”

I trudged on. This was becoming more work than I had anticipated.

Now this house surely would cooperate. Nice fenced yard, beautiful red door. Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m sorry to bother you. But do you have any thirty-year old aged balsamic vinegar?”

“Balsam wood? Henry? Do we have any balsam wood?” The elderly woman yelled into the recesses of her home.

“No, vinegar. Do you have any balsamic vinegar?”

An equally ancient gentleman shuffled to the front door.

“What are you seeking young person? Balsam wood? And vinegar? That’s a strange combination.”

The two folks stood at their front door, quizzical looks on their faces.

“I am conducting an experiment. I am going around the neighborhood and questioning folks about their willingness to lend me items from their pantries.”

“Now why on earth would you do such an experiment? Don’t you have enough food?” The gentleman grabbed my arm, pulled me inside.

Their home was clean and warm, the interior filled with antiques. We walked back to the kitchen where I was pushed into a seat at the small table. The woman set a tray of cookies before me while the man heated water. Soon we all three sat around the table and drank tea while I ate cookies.

An hour later I left the Armstrong home full of chocolate chip cookies and a story for my paper.

W/C 299