Knock, knock.

After using my cell phone, my husband asked me, "You know what I think is funny?"

"Wha?" I grunted.

"How you have thirteen voice mails, and you don't intend to listen to any of them."

I don't know why the humor hasn't worn off of this topic for him. I've proven time and again, for over a decade, that I don't do voicemail.

Do you know how many requests I fulfill everyday? Neither do I.  It's a lot. Why on Earth would I want a machine that adds its demands to my daily duties?

I bet you've had messages like this left for you, too:

"Hi, Natalie, it's me. I can't be there on Saturday. Will you please take over the children's activity? The current head count is forty-two. Let me know if I can do anything to help...."

Well, you could bring over a knife so I could slit my wrists.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor tomorrow. Please call me back so I can give you an assignment that is impossible to accomplish in a timely manner."

Sure thing! It's a good thing I don't have five children, or this request really would be impossible.

"Somebody told me you were great at this, and I was wondering if you would do this for my mother by Thursday night."

Your compliments won't work on me. I don't care if you think I have talent, or not. I haven't even talked to my mother. Can you please take care of yours?

Just now my husband informed me that I have an answering machine on my kitchen phone, but it was only turned on for a few minutes the first day we got it. Then he added that the one message I received has never been listened to.

So that explains the blinking blue light coming from the kitchen that keeps me awake at nights.

Frankly, I'm scared of a machine full of messages. The machine says, "You have sixteen ready messages," and I hear, "You have sixteen pressing engagements which require your attention NOW." I balk at relationships that demand that kind of commitment. I know myself too well; I'm doomed to disappoint before I even acquiesce.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't love to help out a friend. I love it. It feels so good to give to someone in need--especially someone I love. But I just can't handle a one-way relationship. If you're a taker, you also need to be a giver--at least some of the time--or my mom said I can't be your friend.

I'm not averse to all technology. Take caller ID, for example. There's a smart idea! I can avoid a parasitic relationship without ever talking to the leech. I love that!

But I'm going to suggest we take that invention one step further. How about caller ID for the front door?

Who's with me?

I know I'm not the first to think of this. I'm just bringing it back to the table for some serious discussion. I, myself, have tried many forms of doorbell ID.

There's the one where I crawl along the floor to steal a furtive peak out the side window. But hiding in my own house just feels plain wrong. And then there's always the risk that the person will see my one mad eye peeping out of the tiny break in the curtains. I'm not a risk taker.

Looking through the peephole doesn't work, either. Since I have to run to the door, I'm sure the person on the other side can hear my heavy breathing, and besides being awkward, it's just plain rude. I don't want the knocker to know I'm home and ignoring them on purpose.

I looked into hiring a butler so someone else would do my dirty work, but there was no one named "Belvedere" applying for the job, so I had to concede that it wasn't a necessity.

Once I saw a welcome sign for the front door with a backside that said, "Go Away". I almost bought it, but I wasn't sure how that would pan out. Something like: the doorbell rings, I look out and see who it is, decide I want to ignore them, and then carefully open the door a crack, turn the sign slowly around (in the hopes they won't notice so subtle a movement), and then stealthily bring my arm back inside and gently close the door. No matter how I play that one in my mind, it always ends up badly. It's simply not my style to be so impertinent.

There's got to be a solution out there. And I'm thinking hard about it. If you think of it first, call me. I'd love to hear your idea.

But don't leave a message.