The Jehovah's Witness

I had just applied shampoo to my damp hair when the doorbell rang, cursing to the heavens, I hurriedly rinsed it out and ran downstairs to open the door.

A short balding man in a cheap polyester suit and glasses stood by the door, 'Good Morning Sir!' he monotoned robotically, 'How are you today?'

I felt the water from my wet hair running down my back and shoulders. I stared at him, he stared back. 'What do you want?' I demanded as politely as I could.

He smiled falsely, 'What does God mean to you?' He reverently placed his hands together, interlocked his fingers and held them over his midriff, then leant his head sideways as he waited for my answer.

The cheap polyester suit glistened in the sunlight; it bugged me, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt would have been more formal and far more impressive than a cheap polyester suit. The sleeves bunched awkwardly at the elbows and shoulders, giving him the appearance of someone who had just been run over by a high speed locomotive.

'Your suit bothers me.' I finally replied.