The microwave repairman just left my house. He wasn't much less perplexed when he left than when he walked in (and he has to return next Tuesday to install the proper piece, too).
The poor man had no idea what he was getting into when he took this appointment call. He was obviously quite disconcerted to walk into my entryway, glance into the dining room, and see a giant poster of Saddam Hussein on the wall.
"Is that... I mean, that's...?"
"Yes," I told him. "That's Saddam Hussein."
The poor man's face still showed no comprehension.
"Don't worry," I told him. "I promise we're not terrorists."
I realized, though, that it was quite possible to find a representative of the Department of Homeland Security at our door if I didn't do a bit more explaining. Much as I enjoy disconcerting people at times, I'd much rather not go through that investigation.
"My husband got that propaganda poster on his first deployment. He also brought home that mosque alarm clock there and that brass tea set over there. Those matrioshki are from Russia, that platter is from Germany, the scorpion is from Afghanistan, the vase is from Mexico, those shells are from Monterey, that Buddha is from Thailand, those writing tools are from Japan..."
At this point I noticed that the poor man's eyes were glazing over in boredom. I had obviously gone too far.
But at least he was obviously no longer concerned with our terrorist associations, thank goodness.
I wonder what he would have said if I had put the mountain lion skin I inherited from my grandfather up on my wall as well. I wonder if I can have it cleaned and ready to go by next Tuesday...
