There was no Anvil Chorus from the doorbell ringing but I hear my front door open (remind me to oil the hinges) then I hear a woman yelling, a man yelling back and there went my nap for the day so I hopped off the top bunk went downstairs and these strangers, he with a golfer’s cap, plaid Bermuda shorts, knee length black socks slipping down his three iron size legs and finally the wife jumps in and takes charge saying, “Shah, we are guests in someone else’s home,” as she points at the paisley print sofa with her right pointer finger and mocks throwing  up with her left hand down her throat, and I see this as I get to the bottom of the stairs “who the hell are you people?” and golf cap (what a mouth on this interloper) says, “that’s not important, we want to take a look in your basement,” and I’ve got a mouth too, “see the open door you came in?” and before either one can answer I blast them with, “I don’t know which boonies you’re from but here in tony Essex Connecticut we ring or knock and wait to be invited into someone’s house before entering,” and golf cap’s right back at me “we are not from any boonies we only want to look in your basement for a few minutes and then we’ll go.” “I could have stacks of gold bars or people tied up down there, I can’t allow that without an appointment and for you” (as I take the OED off the shelf, flip the pages to “guest” and hold it for them to read), not even with an appointment,” and his wife says “we’re the ones who are moving into the new house being built on the corner and the builder is working on the basement now this very minute and we gave him exact explicit instructions he said your instructions were more exact and much more explicit and we should call you that you were satisfied so there you are,” I grab my hickory walking stick swing it back and forth, swing swing lunge lunge, advancing forward, forcing them to parry their way retreating out my front door stumbling “how’s that for exact explicit?” I ask shutting and locking my front door. Then, while I’m looking at my ugly couch, the doorbell rings and the Anvil Chorus begins.