Leslie stopped by last night, and she left none too pleased with me.

The wife and I were curled up in the family room watching some television. It's been terribly cold lately, and tucked under a nice fleece blanket in front of the glow of the jumbotron is the perfect place to while away the evening hours. The doorbell sounded and the dogs started barking. Neither the wife or I were expecting anyone, and the kid was at her evening job. I grumbled and went to see who was at the door.

I rounded the corner and saw an eager young face peering in the window on the door. She lit up as she recognized a biped. I opened the door, blocking the opening with my leg so the dogs didn't bound out to greet her. She introduced herself as Leslie and said she was here to enlighten me in the Pro-choice movement. I responded with an acknowledgment and desire to avoid actively participating in any politics; while I agree the laws should keep off bodies and it should be the individual's choice, I don't want my name slapped on anything that says so. Well, nothing more defined and detailed than statements such as these, anyway.

I'm always wary that an organization will have one good buzz, and some bad buzz. I don't want my name and address tacked to anything. I don't want the extra mail or phone calls or visits or worse. I just don't.

That wasn't good enough for Leslie, though. She spouted something about needing to get me involved so that the country didn't go back to the way it was in the fifties. She turned on her toes and stomped off my porch. I felt bad for her. Just a little. She wasn't going to succeed as a door-knocker if she took every rejection so badly. I thought I was polite and courteous. Imagine if I'd just turned around at the sight of an unfamiliar face, or shut the door in her face. What if I disagreed with her and went all "baby killer" on her?

Poor Leslie.