The Pop-In

I suffered one of these recently.  Suddenly there is somebody - or, more terrifyingly, somebodies - at your door.  "We were in the neighborhood - thought we would drop by just to say hi!"   And then the BIG LIE:  "We won't be but a minute!"

Coats come off, people seat themselves.  Now what?  Put the tea on?  Turn off the Barnaby Jones marathon?  Where the hell did I hide that hideous vase they gave me for "that empty spot on your shelf?"  The blood races, the sphincter clamps.  The pop-in is on.  

Apparently, this is normal in various neighborhoods in America.  Apparently, I have never lived in one of them, which is pretty much why I am innocently unprepared for these diabolical events.  Heck, when I moved 3 whole miles away from my folks to my first apartment, they would never visit without first calling.  You can do the dishes in the time it takes to drive three New Jersey miles.

I think there should be little signs, like "Feel Free to Pop" for the front lawns in those "various neighborhoods"  and wherever else this practice wishes to be observed.  

My front lawn?  Grass.