MULTI-GIFTED J’s BRILLIANT TALENT #36: Scaring the ever-loving shite out of me.
Observe: The other night I was lying in bed, reading a collection of Neil Gaiman short stories (if you haven’t read his work and care at all, AT ALL, about the fate of the tale – not short stories, my friends, tales – you must read him).
Anyway, my reading-at-night frequently devolves into a struggle to both keep my eyelids open and avoid the pain that surely comes when a large hardbound book smacks you in the face. I’d arrived at this state and was nearing surrender when the thought crossed my mind that the front door was still unlocked. J had mentioned the possibility of coming over to spend the night at my place, but as the night wore on, I now assumed that was unlikely. “Perhaps I should get up and lock said door,” I thought to myself.
I live in a quaint, little house in a relatively safe neighborhood with a fantastic roommate, G (who I adore but who comes home late often and has a tendency to leave the front door unlocked also). It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that this is maybe not the safest thing, and that, one of these days I’m going to wake up to a masked man standing over my bed forcing me at gunpoint to tell him where I hide all my money, at which point I will laugh hysterically in his face as he has implied that I possess a notable sum of money. Or any money at all.
Such was my line of thinking as I passed out for the night.
So you can imagine my surprise, premature heart attack, ninja-like reflexes, sheer terror when I wake up to Gabe’s vicious bark (the one reserved for life-threatening situations and my ex-boyfriend) and a black-clad, hooded man, indeed standing over my bed in the dark.
Fortunately for J, recognition and rational thought kicked in just before fight-or-flight. I may be small, but I’ve some sense that I could make a respectable attempt at a good shoe-throwing, eye-gouging, a##-kicking if a situation arose.
Or at least bite. Really hard.
After much apology, I think I forgave J for breaking into my house (right, so pushing open an ajar door may not qualify as breaking-and-entering). But I’ve taken to locking him out at night now, so that he is forced to call me at odd hours from my front porch asking to be let in.
Excessive? Maybe. I’m only thinking of his best interests, though. I kind of like his face, and I wouldn’t want it marred with a gash from the stacked, 4-inch heal of my Steve Madden pumps. (You can see I’ve thought this over and deemed this pair as capable of the most damage) 🙂