I'm sorry.
I know I have a propensity to say weird things when I answer the door. I probably shouldn't have invited your sales representatives to a barbecue, then suggested they wear some sort of marinade. It was certainly a bad idea to answer the door in nothing but a motorcycle jacket. And to tell you the truth, I was waiting for the pizza guy.
But I think blacklisting me from further canvassing is going a step too far. I mean, who will sell me the Caramel Delights which are the only blissful light on my otherwise dark and dreary soul? Can't you guys take a joke? Isn't there some kind of badge you earn for letting bygones be bygones?
In retrospect, it was also a pretty bad idea for me to call you. I'm prone to moments of fugue, and I have to say I was a little scatterbrained when I dialed, because I'd been mainlining nail polish remover. One might say I temporarily lost my memory. But after the third 'Hello?' from a timid female voice, well, it reminded me of a prior situation. I'm sorry I mistook your headquarters for an adult 'chat' number, although to be fair, it was only for like, a minute. Maybe seventeen. She had a familiar-sounding voice, okay?
I think that instead of playing the 'blame game' we should come to a rational agreement, whereupon I promise not to touch, lick, or proposition your dancers scouts, and you promise not to have me registered as any sort of offender. Oh, yes, and you know. Keep bringing me cookies. I am fucking addicted to the cookies.
Regretfully,
Me
PS - You can't fool me, chairperson of the board. I know you're really Theresa from 976-PLAY. I know this in my soul.
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