For a few months now, I have been noticing that we need to replace the batteries in our door bell chime. The ding starts out ok, but then it degenerates into this long and unearthly sounding wail, leaving you looking around to see which cat has been put in a blender. It finally peters out into silence, but the shivers in your spine and the vibrations in the glassware take a bit more time to fully subside.
Replace batteries in door bell has been on the list since this summer. The problem is, we aren't certain where the door bell chime is. The last time I saw it - after we took it down to wall paper the hall, I think it was on top of the fridge. But we try not to talk about the whole wallpapering experience, which has some how also turned into not talking about where the doorbell chime might be located.
The batteries (assuming that it does not take some obscure form only available at one hardware store located in Vulcan, Alberta, which is only open on days that are 23 hours long) are up in the linen closet that I have been meaning to clean out for a year. Every time I open the door the large duvet for the spare room falls on my head, leaving me confused and enveloped, also likely scrambling to catch run away rolls of toilet paper. Anyway, between the lost chime, the possibility of losing my life in the closet, and the fact that I don't get many people ringing my doorbell to remind me of the need for replacement, this item has not been crossed off the list.
Last night, we were sitting at the kitchen table, and I noticed that the door bell proper was on the table. Mr. Spit comments that our last visitor handed it to him earlier that evening. It fell off the wall (Again, old house). I observed that the door bell had clearly had enough of the way it sounded and our inability to solve this problem, and decided to take matters into its own hands. I commented that we should just go and buy a new one - it's only slightly embarrassing when your doorbell commits suicide.
Mr. Spit, sitting at the kitchen table, picks up the door bell, and pushes the button with his finger.
He does this, while I am watching him. Watching him in that way we have of watching others without really paying attention or processing what they are doing.
I hear the doorbell ring. The dogs bark.
I push my chair back from the table.
Yes, that's right.
I started getting up to go and answer the door.
Ding Dong!
