The tenacious not-a-salesman continued with his demonstration and not-sales-pitch for the next hour, occasionally interrupted by the not-walking-wounded calling out for bananas and ice from the couch every so often. My second-born popped by the kitchen to inform me that he was absolutely, positively dying of hunger and he was sure that if he didn't have a snack soon he would "waste away to bones." He was seconded by the sagely nodding third-born who was trying distract my attention from the fact that he was reaching behind himself into the cabinet to where I had stored the excess Easter candy. I shooed them from the kitchen.
Midway through the third hour of the demonstration, I had taken to poking my husband in the back in a way that I hoped was subtle every time the not-a-salesman made an outlandish claim or blatant sales reference. The tests and dire predictions were reaching a fever pitch when one of my sons, who shall remain unnamed for the purposes of protecting his pride, let himself into the bathroom right off of the kitchen. He closed the door and went about his business. The not-a-salesman was wrapping up his spiel and delivered the line that was clearly his big sale-making line, earnestly asking, "Do you trust me? Do you believe I can purify your water for you?"
Meanwhile, in the bathroom that was four feet away, my son delivered the loudest gas ever heard in the history of mankind. We are not quite sure what not-a-salesman said next as we were fighting a battle-for-the-ages for facial control. Our son excused himself from the bathroom and walked away casually while not-a-salesman repeated, "I asked whether you trust me to deliver pure, healthy, clean water to you and your family? Will you let me take care of you?" (Side note: At that point I thought he was proposing to us ...)