The power was down, my outer defenses penetrated and my guard bears distracted by bees and honey and other such strange things. Without power, of course, the electric fence didn't work. Worse still, without power, the electric doorbell didn't work. By this, I do not mean the electricity made the doorbell ding, I instead mean the electricity ensured a high current of power flowing over the doorbell, electrocuting would-be ringers. Now, though, it would not. As such, I could now hear the ominous chimes of said bell, chimes that I had grown to fear and long-term readers had began to hate as a clunky literary tool.
So, it was with terror, and a little interest, I went to see what kind of salesman would brave what I had thought to be my impenetrable defenses.
On my doorstep, two nuns. One was short, fat and jolly looking, and the other taller and carrying a suitcase. While they were not altogether repulsive, they were clearly real nuns, not those sexy ones you see taking their clothes off at parties, or on the Internet.
The nuns talked for several minutes. Apparently, they were selling candy door-to-door to make money, so their convent could afford a trip to Lourdes. The candy, held in the tall nun's case, looked rather good, so I bought some and bid them good day. I returned to my sofa, nibbling on the candy and musing on how the nuns had bypassed my extensive security. After a few minutes, I began to wonder if I actually had any extensive security. It's entirely possible I imagined it on one of my acid trips. I'm not even sure if the nuns were real.
The candy tastes and looks a lot like lego...