This past Sunday was a slow-thinking day when I answered my door to find Ivan, aka Antoine Dodson. He was selling a cleaning spray and immediately asked me if he could "do a commercial" for my husband. Something else you should know about me is, when people say stuff that doesn't make sense, I get exponentially more awkward. So I reply, "oh, he, uh...doesn't like commercials." Wut? Anyway, Ivan left. I thought I was out of the woods. Then, Monday night "we" decided to do some yard work. So I'm behind a bush pretending to pull weeds or whatever and then it plays out like this:
Ivan: Yo, is y'all the king and queen of the castle?
--and damnit, my inner diva is like:
Tell: That's us!
--at this point, I look up from my really important yard job to see Ivan in the same pants-below-butt outfit as the day before. I would judge him on that but, lesbihonest, I repeat outfits on the reg.
Ivan: Who do the cleanin?
Tell: *points at me* She does.
--then, Ivan looks at me, but doesn't recognize me from the day before so I'm all:
What you should know about Tell is that he's nice. SO nice. Which means, we're never rude to people who want to take up 20 minutes of our time talking about what a shitty job I'm doing at the cleaning. Ivan immediately launches into his "commercial" that included that following phrases:
Ivan: You see how dirty y'all chrome over here is? Check this out.
See dis oxidation on yo truck? Boom. Just like that.
This even keep AAAPHIDS and Japanese Water Beetles off ya plants.
I see you got a dog. You'll like this: non-toxic. *unscrews cap. licks inside of bottle.*
See her tenna-shoes? I take this to 'em, it'd look like she walked out the Foot Locker!
--to which I'm like:
Ivan didn't let me deter him. He kept walking around, pointing out dirt and stains outside and cleaning little spots of them. If I were smarter, I'd have had him clean the bird crap off my ugly cactus house numbers (thx, previous owner). Ivan proceeds to try to push the value pack:
Ivan: It's only $99 and you won't gotta buy any cleaning supplies for 3 years.
Tell: *looks at me*
--and I'm over there like:
Did I mention how nice Tell is? He really wanted to throw this guy a bone:
Tell: Does it work on wood floors?
--dude knows I HATE sweeping the wood floors. Because I sweep and I sweep and I sweep and the next day there's dust on dust on dust. It never stops. I'll die sweeping this floor.
Ivan: Oh you got hardwood? Man, this stuff keep it real nice for days!
--as much as I wish that hadn't have sold me, I looked at Tell like:
FORTY THREE DOLL HAIRS LATER we are the proud owners of some cleaning spray that doesn't seem to do jack for the wood floors. I would love to give y'all a moral of the story, but there really isn't one except maybe just don't buy cleaning spray from crazy strangers.
Good luck out there,