In Which I Play the Part of Bilbo and Say Yes When I Know Better

Sometimes, I love my husband more than life itself.

Monday afternoon was going in its normal Monday swing - Avram was home from school and helping with the kids, as well as doing dishes because I had a hang-nail rip off and it stung when it contacted water. This dish duty for four days straight (up to now) would be enough to make me love my husband forever, but this is just the set up to the day. Suddenly I heard the doorbell ring, which it never does unless it's the spunky (and by spunky I mean she walks right into your house if your door is open and proceeds to delve into Lydia's toy chest for her favorite dolls) neighbor girl Adela. So with dread I went to answer the door, only to find a salesman at my door.

He was yada yada yada yada representing gas company yada yada yada to sign me up on a fixed rate yada yada for the next year. Yada. And in a moment of weakness, I up and signed up. This wasn't a matter of just giving him my name. Nor did I just have to just sign something. No, when I said I would do it (and now I can remember a faint air of surprise around him when I up and volunteered to be stupid. Hmmm.) he had to call someone and make me repeat my first born son's information back to them and put my name on a recording to say I was officially stupid enough to fall for a door-to-door salesman. Then I also had to sign my soul away.

I know you're all thinking that sometimes door to door salesmen can be very full of pressure, making you jump through hoops to shut the door and taking every polite excuse; I have no money, I'm dying of cancer, my husband is a paraplegic - and responding back with ways and means to make it work anyway. Haven't they heard the law of excuses in our society covers up the real reasons we are saying no, which are usually, "You're really annoying, and I just want to live my life in peace without people coming to my door and harassing me, regardless of the product you sell." And hence we all (and by we, I mean me) have a hard time not just signing up to get them to go away. Was this gentlemen particularly persuasive? No. Was he eloquent? Doubly no. Did he wheel and deal me? No. Am I a loser and he put a small mark - the same that Gandalf marked on Bilbo's door - that tells all future salesmen to be sure and stop here for an easy sale to a dimwit? Yes.

Avram came out into the living room and gave me weird looks, of the sort interpreted in couple speech as "Why in the world are you doing this? Didn't we already shop around on the Internet and compared every single gas company option (and by we here, I mean me, because before we moved I did check out ever company that could outsource gas) and decided to just stay with the default city option? Are you sure you want to do this?"

I gave him mute looks back saying, "I'm a dimwit. It's mot my fault - well, it is, but I'm so lame I can't take responsibility. I'm sorry there's a mark on our door now for all future annoying salesmen."

Halfway through being recorded for all posterity on the phone, as I read the fine print of the agreement, I realized that their gas cost seemed awfully high. According to the salesmen, gas costs are supposed to rise above $2.00 a ccf (whatever that is) (actually I do know; it's a hundred cubic feet; I'm not totally ineffective), and he was out their on behalf of his yada yada company to save everyone money by locking in a low rate before winter came. Yet their locked in rate was much higher than the default month by month city rate. I knew then I definitely didn't want to sign up.

So did I interrupt the woman on the phone? Did I stop the salesman and inform him that the only reason I had said yes was a momentary lapse in any form of judgment? No. I just finished signing my name to the unwanted and binding contract.

Let's all take a moment and be grateful that Avram took one for the team in marrying me.

As soon as the salesman left Avram and I looked up on the Internet the handy little comparison chart the city provides, and this Yada Yada company was the absolute most expensive company out there! Of about ten options! And I asked for this privilege! Competitive rates (as their contract claims) my mother's maiden aunt!

Here is where the super husband comes in. Avram volunteered to call and cancel the contract. Now, to fully understand the depth of his love for me, you must realize that Avram hates the phone. The are only three people in the world he'll voluntarily call without trying to rope me into doing it for him, and these are his parents and his brother Samuel. He's tried to make me call his hometeaching companion before, his contact person in England, his professor. He really, really hates calling people. I hate calling people too, but not as much, so I usually make most of the phone calls around here. (Can anyone tell me why calling people, and conversely answering the phone, which we both also try to pass off is so difficult for people? I can't tell you, and I suffer from it.)

So let me repeat what I said, now that you know how important this is. Avram volunteered to call and cancel the contract.

And that is why I love my husband more than life itself. That and that he's my best friend, and we have two kids together and were sealed in the temple as an eternal family for time and eternity. But let's not get sidetracked.

Avram ended up having to call three times, over three different days to cancel the dumb thing. And yet he persevered. He didn't even put off calling, nor did he make me feel guilty at all for being so dimwitty. When he called I told him to tell the people that his wife had signed up for it without him, and so he wanted to cancel it. I'm sure the people he talked to were thinking he was a controlling husband who beats me when I am ditzy and do things without his permission, but this just goes to show that you never can tell what's really happening inside a marriage just by what people say on a phone. Although he didn't even pull the wife card I gave him to make it easier.

Please, learn from me. If a yada yada salesmen comes to your door, just tell them you're not interested, and that you have to check with your husband before you sign up for anything. Unless they're the missionaries (which aren't salesmen, I know). Then you should let them in and either feed them, or get baptized; whichever is more relevant.