Gah.

Ding dong I checked the little clock on the computer. 2:32 p.m. I did a quick mental run-down of who might be ringing my doorbell. Mail? Nope, already picked it up. Groceries? Nope, not until tomorrow. Delivery of some sort? I racked my brain for any evidence of orders placed. Nothing, unless Sara placed some. I double-timed it to the door and opened it to find two little girls, probably around five years old, bike helmets still firmly attached to their heads. I figured they were here to see if Linnea wanted to come out to play. "Hi guys!", I said. I've perfected a false cheerfulness that can slip under a child's radar. I'm currently knee-deep in kids, I've got game. "What's going on?" "Do you want to buy some lemonade?" Well, no, not really.

"Lemonade?", I repeat, trying to buy some time to think of a way to not buy some warm, over/under sugared, soggy-cupped genera-ade. "Well, how much?" Hopefully they were working sans parentis and would ask for something like a million bucks and I could exit gracefully. "You can buy however much you want." Well, they were definitely free-agents, but ball's in my court again. "How about a dollar?" Here I should mention that there is no Standard Unit of Lemonade in the world. A dollar has purchased me three dribbles one day and a plastic tumbler of bee-attractant that would put the Big Gulp to shame the next. "Okay", says the leader and they walk back to their bikes while I fish in my pocket for some change. I figure they'll go over to their little stash of drinks and return with some, which I will thank them for, take inside, and dump out. I have zero intention of drinking whatever sort of draught of kid germs and dirt they have concocted, obviously on their own. Much to my surprise, the next thing I see is two kids on bikes riding casually down the street away from me, as if they're just out for a Sunday trot. I stand there, flummoxed, and watch them go. I hadn't anticipated them not carrying their stock around with them and then they turn the corner and they're gone. I suddenly feel very alone, standing on my porch with a dollar in my hand. How long will they be? Will them come back? Am I on Candid Camera? I surreptitiously check to see if my fly is zipped, just in case Alan Funt's great-grandkid will be zooming around the corner with a camera next. And I stand there. And stand there. I consider going back inside, but I know full well that God loves to play these practical jokes on my where I wait and wait and the instant I stop waiting something happens. Once the (very pregnant) wife and I went to a high school football homecoming game. It was freezing and she was uncomfortable and we left just after half-time, the local squad waaaay behind. I got up the next morning to find the local paper with gigantic type saying "GREATEST COMEBACK EVER!" and page after page of how the local boys played in the most exciting football game since the invention of big font sizes. So I check the hanging plants for water (lots, just rained), I wave to the neighbor walking her little boys down the street, I check the dates on the quarters (all in the 90's). Finally, I spy a speck turning the corner, walking towards me, something red colored in her hands. Red? Yes, as she gets closer I can see that my $1 glass of lemonade is actually a $1 glass of cherry Kool-Aid, in a Real Glass. And suddenly I realize something horrible: I'm going to have to drink this. Sure enough, she finishes the 18 minute stroll down the street, cherry Kool-Aid sloshing everywhere, walks across my lawn and hands me the cup. I give her the dollar and I can already feel how warm the glass is. She stands there, looking at me expectantly. "Heh", I say, trying hard to force a smile. I look at the red liquid, watching closely for ants or hidden bees or grass or who-knows-what. I'm digging deep for some courage here and not finding any. I mentally consider doing a pratfall into the bushes and dumping out the Never-Been-Kool-Aid on my way down. Kids are pretty honest and I'd probably have to wait while she'd run back home to get more. How many pratfalls could I pull off before her stock would run out? How many hours would this take? I try to do some volume calculations, but her watchful eye scrambles my brain. This is happening, I'm gonna have to do this. I lift it up, saying a quick prayer that they raided Mom's Crystal Light box and that I'm not going to be downing a cup of white sugar. I tip it back it's warm, oh so warm, and I reach back for my college beer drinking days and attempt to shotgun the glass, perhaps even vertically so that it doesn't touch my tongue. And it's there and it's going down and then it's over. "Mmmm", I say, with that sit-com half smile as if I'm meeting my future mother-in-law for the first time and she's whipped up something awful that obviously took hours and you just know that the judgement she'll make of you in the next 10 seconds will hang with you for the rest of your life. I hand the glass back to the kid and she takes it and walks away. I begin pricing out peep-holes for my front door.