A Mommy Story

A few weeks ago, I arrived home and noticed a light blue car driving slowly down the street. It was a large Olds or Caddy or some other old-lady-mobile. As I got out of the car, I noticed the other car inching closer to the house. I opened the back door and started to get Cordy out of her car seat, when the car suddenly picked up speed and quickly turned into my driveway. No big deal, I thought. We’re at the end of the street, and lots of people turn into our driveway to turn around.

But then an older lady jumped out of the car and walked up to me. She introduced herself as the Avon rep. for the neighborhood and asked if she could leave a catalog with me. I, of course, am trying to get a tired toddler out of the car, and really don’t have time to talk, so I quickly accept just to get her to leave. Plus, my family purchases lotion and other items from Avon every now and then, so I thought maybe I’d find something sometime.

Wrong decision. Upon accepting that first catalog, she whipped out her little notebook and asked for my name, phone number, address, and blood type. (Just kidding about the last one. Or am I?) So, while holding a semi-awake, unhappy toddler, I blurted out all of the information just to get inside. She mentioned she’d give me a call in a week or so to see if I had an order.

Well, this Thursday, I was taking Cordy out to the car to go to the park. It was a beautiful morning, and the street was quiet. I strapped Cordy into her car seat, and then as I shut the door I was surprised to find the light-blue old-lady-mobile in the driveway blocking us in. What the…where the hell did she COME from?? I swear she appeared out of nowhere.

“Hi, I was just wondering if you had an order to place?”

“Um, uh, no, not yet. I have looked through the catalog, but I haven’t decided on anything.”

“No? Well, when do you think you will have an order ready?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. I’ve been very busy lately, so I haven’t had time to really sit down and think about it. I mean, I do have a toddler and I work as well.”

“Oh, honey, that’s nothing. I’m watching my two grandkids today.”(no kids in the car)”So you think you’ll have your decision in a few days?”

“I don’t know. I’m busy. Listen, I’ll give you a call when I’m ready, OK?”

She agreed and finally let us leave the driveway. Even though she was a little pushy, I find it hard to be mean to older people. It’s something I need to work on, I guess, because Saturday morning, as I was loading Cordy into the car, I felt the presence of the light-blue car. Sure enough, there was the white-haired lady, standing next to her car that was blocking me in again. How does she DO that? Is she waiting around the corner, watching for me with spy binoculars or something? Do Avon ladies sell their souls to the devil for that power?

“Hi, honey, I was wondering if you’ve had time to ready an order?”

“No, not yet. I told you, I’m busy, and I just haven’t had the time.”

(You’d have thought I killed her grandkids by the look on her face.) “Oh, well, I’m leaving for Pigeon Forge on Monday, and I was hoping you’d have your order ready.”

“I promise I’ll call if I have an order for you, OK? I’ll just leave you a message while you’re gone if I think of anything.”

“Well, if the power goes out, our messages get erased and I’d miss it.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

I tell her I must leave, and she grudgingly lets me pass. I am being stalked by the Avon Lady. Anytime I leave the house, I glance around, looking for her car, wondering if she’s going to magically appear in my driveway. She’s worse than a car salesman after you test drive a car. (Do they EVER stop calling?) At least the car salesman doesn’t come to your house.

I was thinking of ordering some sunscreen, but I wonder if that will only encourage her? I feel trapped in the Avon Lady’s grasp. I had no idea accepting a catalog would lead to this.

In the past, I had considered trying a direct-sales work-from-home plan instead of working outside the home. But I now know: I would never make it in the direct-sales field. Not if I have to compete against the likes of women like the Avon Lady with demonic powers of appearing out of nowhere and a personality comparable to sandpaper.

You know, when I’ve thought about the danger of being stalked, I never imagined it quite like this. What does this say about my life, when I’m stalked by the Avon Lady and not by a young psycho guy?