Despite the fact that I’m not really in the market these days, I’m often told I need to get out more and that a guy isn’t going to come crashing through my ceiling, or just knock on my front door.

Well, get this: one did.

(Knock on my front door, that is.)

This last Monday night, I got home from work, rolled my trash barrels out to the curb in preparation for trash day, stopped inside for my grocery list then headed to the store. When I came home, I was busy unloading my trunk but paused for a few moments to take one final bag of trash out.

As I walked down the driveway, I noticed someone standing on my front porch.

It was a dude. And a hot dude, at that.

For any ladies who need a visual, I’m pretty sure he was Ryan Reynolds’ twin. And while I’ve never really been that into Ryan Reynolds, if his twin is standing on my property, I’m completely into it.

Turns out he was going door to door for AT&T or something about the U-verse package dealio thingy (clearly I’m tuned in to technology). He started asking me how many TVs I have, what I use my computer for, if I have a land line, etc.

The fact of the matter is, as I’ve said before, I’m a single girl with a cat who rents her parents’ house from them. It’s a simple life, a quiet life. I have but one TV.

Singular.

Mono.

Uni.

It’s old, and probably could stand to be replaced. Sometimes the picture will go from color to black and white, but it always goes back to color. Eventually. Anyway, at the moment it’s fine, and I’m alright with its quirks. (I find them complementary to my own, natch.)

No, I don’t have a DVR. The Golden Girls are all I really need, plus my weekly fix of Bitchin’ Kitchen on Wednesdays, with wedding shows on TLC rounding out my week on Fridays.

He seemed shocked that I didn’t have a DVR.

He asked what cable package I had, and I honestly didn’t know. He asked if it had movie channels, and I knew that it didn’t.

He asked what I did when I wanted to watch a movie, and I told him I use Netflix. His reply?

“Oh, I stream videos on my computer, too.”

No, hot guy, you’re wrong. I’m old school. I get their DVDs in the mail.

Somehow we got on the topic of pets, and it turns out he has three cats. I called him the crazy cat man, and he agreed. Points for him.

He asked what I did for a living, and I said I was in advertising — although it’s sometimes hard to define for people beyond that. He said, “Yeah, I can see you doing that as a career.”

(…because you know me so well?)

We continued chatting, and somehow we started talking about the motorsports-centric past life I used to live. He said he didn’t follow NASCAR, but was a big F1 fan and also liked motorcycles. He said he used to have a Yamaha R6.

“Used to? Until you wised up?” I asked.

Then he explained he’d crashed on it.

Sorry, buddy — my bad. I mentioned I used to date someone who had one, as well — until it was stolen. He continued on, rambling about the finer points of the bike.

I told him to stop because I was getting emotional.

“About your ex?” he asked.

“Oh, absolutely not…about the bike,” I replied.

At some point I realized my back door and my trunk were still both open and I was being [willingly] detained in front of my house.

I asked him if he was supposed to be the distraction while someone robbed my house.

“Rob you? No, you don’t even have a DVR. I’m pretty sure you don’t have anything that anyone would need.”

Fair enough. Well played, hot guy.

Then he motioned to his work badge, and said that I could inspect it if I doubted his affiliation with AT&T.

“You know,” I said, eyeing his crotch (because that’s where the badge was, um, dangling), “I would, but I don’t really know you and I’d rather not stare down there for any extended period of time.”

He laughed, then said it happens a lot.

(It does?)

After about 10 minutes of chatting, it was beyond obvious that I wasn’t going to buy his services since a) I’m technologically handicapped, b) the casa isn’t mine and c) I still have a fondness for DVDs. We chatted a little bit longer about the neighborhood, I wished him well on the rest of his journey, and we shook hands as he offered, “It was nice to meet you. I’m Stephen.”

And that was that. Probably one of the more anticlimactic stories ever, but a good one all the same.

Tonight I am thankful for the witty, articulate and shockingly hot door-to-door guy who happened to find his way through the neighborhoods of Anaheim and onto my street just as I returned home. If nothing else, he has provided fodder for the blog, and has given me hope that — yes, a hot guy just might knock on my door someday afterall.

I look forward to the next one in another 35 years.