They were plainly dressed, the two women who knocked at my door. Their faces fervent. Good morning, said one. How are you? Let me stop you there, I said. What organisation are you with? We'd like to talk to you about how you deal with your problems, she said. Yes, I said, but what organisation are you with? We're Jehovah's Witnesses. Thank you, I said, closing the door as she thrust a pamphlet about the end of the world through the gap. I resented their presence on my doorstep. I did not want to discuss the annihilation of humankind on a fine Saturday morning. And, most especially, I did not want to tell them how I was.
But then neither do I want to tell market researchers, dairy owners, or plumbers how I am. And neither, I suspect, do they want to know. To know I am pre-menstrual, feeling sexy in my new jeans, furious with my husband after last night's bender. Apparently I am not alone. These past weeks I have received several emails on the subject. Bev is irked when asked, "And what are you up to with the rest of your day?" "Being polite," she says, "I give a quick answer that straightaway makes me feel boring."
Gillian is more irked by the response than the question. "I have found when you meet people in the street it is FATAL to say, 'How are you?' Invariably you get a history of ailments. Alas my 10-minute dash out to get a bottle of milk can sometimes take an hour or more depending on whether I keep my mouth shut and only say a simple 'Hello'!" Kathryn suggests while most people will reply "Fine", in truth they mean: "Frazzled, insecure, neurotic, emotional".
Lyn is quite vexed, muddled even, by the etiquette of it all. "You know," she writes, "a hitherto stranger won't want to know about your bruised second toe so you say, 'Really well, thanks,' or, with less enthusiasm, 'Not bad thanks', and don't mention your toe at all. If, in time, you do get to know them, you may then mention the injured toe, thereby risking a reputation of dishonesty since you had, in the first instance, said 'Really well, thanks'."
