Is someone knocking? With my hearing the way it is, one never knows.
Yes, there is, as I pad to the door.
Without my glasses I can’t quite make out who it is from the peep hole, so I call out…who’s there?
Uh-oh. Is it a doorman with a baseball bat because I didn’t tip him enough for Christmas?
Hey, it’s the Stephen King in me.
I slowly open the door with the chain on and don’t see anybody, but then look down.
It’s little Mitch, from 6, a 4 year-old who loves to bake, clutching a wrapped package I’m guessing are cookies.
It’s not unusual to meet him and his nanny on the elevator with a smudge of flour on his nose.
“Oh Mitch, forgive me,” I say, “I didn’t know it was you. Didn’t you hear me calling?”
(here it comes)
“Yeah, but my mom says, don’t talk to strangers.”
This struck me funny. “But I’m not a stranger.”
“But it didn’t sound like you.”
It takes a second, but I figure it out.
I have a major head cold, and do sound a little like Lauren Bacall with a touch of Bogie tossed in.
Ya gotta love kids.