Just in case I don't update in the next few days, it may be because I'm dead. Non is at a late work meeting, and I'm home alone fighting bloat-y stomach cramps. I just heard a knock at the door, and as I'm too short to look through the peep hole, I simply shouted, "Who is it?"

"Neighbor" came the one word reply.

"What do you need"? I asked through the door.

"May I have a minute of your time?"

It wasn't even a full second when I heard myself say,

"No."

Rude? Perhaps. But, I would rather have an actual neighbor think I'm rude than open the door to a serial killer.

I warn you about the potential death thing because as soon as I said, "No" and walked away from the door, my mind began devising what the shunned "neighbor" might do for retrobution. Even though we live in an okay neighborhood, I can't deny I'll probably be a little nervous going to the car tomorrow morning.

I used to be different. I used to be someone who thought the best of people until they proved me wrong. A few years ago I would've opened the door eagerly in the hopes of helping a neighbor in need.

What happened?

I'm not sure exactly. To use an oft coined phrase, "Live and learn." Though it might be sad, it's unfortunately proven itself to be true, and even if it's only true one time out of one thousand, I'd rather not be Miss One Thousandth.

Besides, I have a bad track record with solicitors at my door. A few months after I'd moved here, two teenage boys came a' knockin' to sell a subscription to the newspaper. I was very polite (I even opened the door), and I almost reconsidered my denial when I saw the kids standing at my door for 30 seconds, (dumbstruck, I thought) at my rejection. It wasn't until an hour later when I walked outside to get something from the car that I saw the words "F*CK YOU" scrawled across my front door in black Sharpie.

So, Mr. Neighbor, I hope got what you needed, and I really hope you aren't Mr. Serial Killer.