TEN (OR SO) THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO ME LAST NIGHT
1. Arrived home to find a closet door open. A closet door that had been closed when I left for work.
2. Thought about peeing on self out of fear.
3. Approached closet door slowly. Shut it. Propped Weapon of Mass Dusting (read: the Swiffer) against the door so that when the psycho killer (who was obviously waiting for me inside the closet) tried to get out, the combined strength of the WMD and the Joy of Physics would prevent him from escaping and then I could call the police and run screaming from my house.
4. Watched more episodes of “Nip/Tuck.” Avoided getting near closet door.
5. Decided to go to bed. Turned off lights.
6. Closet door creaked open.
7. Heart stopped for at least five minutes while I lay on the couch, completely motionless, convinced I was OH MY GOD ABOUT TO DIE A HORRIBLE AND PAINFUL DISMEMBERMENT KIND OF DEATH. (It probably didn’t help that one of the episodes of “Nip/Tuck” had featured A Really Scary Scene Involving a Break-In and A Sexy Doctor in Trouble! Though I am not a sexy doctor, I was still convinced I was about to die.)
8. S…l…o…w…l…y reached for cell phone. Opened it as quietly as possible. Prepared to dial 911.
9. Sat up quickly and flipped on light in attempt to escape from psycho killer using My Amazing Dexterity and Absolutely No Chance of Clumsiness I Experience on a Daily Basis.
10. Saw Gizmo sitting near closet door which I soon found out opens if a strong breeze (or an eight-pound cat) even glances at it.
Bonus item #11: Got in bed with hand wrapped around hammer, fully prepared to bludgeon potential psycho killers who were hiding in and soon to escape from my other closets. Made mental note of where clothes were (in case I needed to put on clothes in order to necessitate the Screaming Exit from My Home In Which I Am Not Naked). Reminded self where car keys were, as well as cell phone, glasses, and shoes and then thought, “Fuck shoes. I can drive barefoot.” Had trouble getting to sleep due to massive amounts of adrenaline pumping through body. Finally fell asleep. Woke in the middle of the night to go potty and decided that as soon as I left my bedroom, the psycho killer who had been letting me get my beauty sleep would suddenly jump out and gut me like a trout. None of these things happened, obviously, but I’ll bet I've never peed faster in my life. Went back to bed. Made note – again – of where hammer was. Sigh.
When I got up this morning, I got ready for work and noticed, as I was getting ready to leave, that the closet door was once again open. Despite the fact that I know my fear is due to Feline Mischief Syndrome™, I still wanted to pee on myself again. I’m going to nail that fucking door shut. My heart can’t take it. And neither can my pants, given my bladder’s decision to run screaming from the room when it sees An Open Door That Should Be Shut At All Times, Goddamnit!
Happy Friday. ::insert weak laugh and sweaty brow here::
1 comment:
It's terrifying how much of this I can relate to, friend. Except the killer in my apartment usually lives in the rooms of my roommates when they are out of town. But other than that, same M.O.
I can't find our hammer, so I'm forced to sleep the roommate's field hockey stick under my bed. My other option is a spray bottle of some generic bleach-based cleaner so that I can distract the Killer by spraying it in his face while I run screaming from my apartment.
It's probably best we never meet in person. Our fears would merge and we'd become quivering weeping tragic messes. Right?
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