Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Can't Have Manslaughter Without Laughter

Gather around, and allow me to tell you a story.  A story that would have ended in me probably going to jail.

Anyone who has read this blog, who knows me, who has spent like fifteen minutes with me, knows that I am extremely paranoid.  I'm talking some "She could really use some Lithium" paranoia.  My paranoia is the reason that Husband purchased a baseball bat for me.  Those times when he has to go out of town, when I'm alone in the house and nobody would probably check on me for a few days, I put the bat by the bed, in case of all the horrible things that could come get me.

I'm not just talking about serial killers or Jehovah's Witnesses.  I'm of course protected against the evil things of the night.  The vampires, the werewolves, the Rebecca Blacks.  Should they come after me, I was prepared with my bat, all of course taking for granted that nothing would kill me, drink my blood, sing crappy tone-deaf pop music before I could wake up.

This is just on a typical day.  Other days, we'd add in trolls or George Bush Jr.

I never thought that I would ever actually have to use the bat.  Frankly, for over a year it sat near the bed, only moved when I had to clean, and then replaced after a few practice swings that narrowly miss a curious cat who is too dumb to get out of the way.  But a morning not too long ago, I was actually called upon to use the bat.

Having taken Husband to work, I curled back up into bed to get a few more hours of sleep.  The normal ritual would have been that if Husband was coming home early, he would never remember his house key, and would ring the doorbell until I answered the door.  So when I was woken up from a deep sleep by someone walking around downstairs, it NEVER occurred to me that it was him.

For a moment I had to decide whether to call the cops, go investigate, or piss myself, knowing that someone was in my house after I had locked the doors.  So I finally crawled out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat as quietly as I could.  At this point it was all speculation as to who would be there, and what if it were some confused elderly person who knows how to pick locks?  I couldn't just call the cops.

Could have been one of these too.  Still preferable to half the shit I was thinking about.

So I began heading down the steps, and then the real terror began.  I heard the intruder heading for our brand new television.  All at once, any sympathy I had for this person vanished.  I was going to break some bones, dislocate some joints.  Because I fucking love that television.

In my pretty pink butterfly pajamas, I crept down the stairs, bat over my shoulder.  I was deciding whether I wanted to let out a war cry or not when I heard the bastard leave the living room and go into the kitchen.  Had he heard me?  Was he going to try to slaughter me with my Pampered Chef knives?  Then I heard the fridge open.

Of all the cocky bastards....he was going to make a sandwich before coming to kill me and taking my TV. 

I got to the bottom of the steps and lifted the bat over my head as I walked into the living room, listening to the serial killer thief sandwich maker putting cheese on his bread.  By this time, I was pretty sure this person did not need to kill me, because I was pretty damn close to a heart attack before even getting near the kitchen.

So I'm almost to the kitchen, and I was readying my battle cry when two steps and out pops Husband, sandwich in hand.  I was so shocked I dropped the bat on the floor and just sat down and sobbed.  When he asked why, through bites of sandwich, I explained how he had scared the living hell out of me and if I had been any braver, I would have swung first and asked questions later.

This sleeping kitten is an accurate portrayal of how threatening I was.

I tried to explain how he had not called out when he came in, which was explained away by how he did not want to wake me; how he had gotten in with the doors locked and how he had remembered his key; not to mention how he went to the television first and of course, how he had been picking up something off the entertainment system mantle.  All of it just him changing his routine.  And I'd have bashed his skull in.

At least Husband was kind enough to not laugh at me until after I stopped crying.

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