Yawn... It's 6 am. Moments ago my darling husband stumbled past my desk, arms reaching the ceiling in an enormous yawn (he IS 6'4") and sarcastically stated,
"Aaahhh.... Slept great! TWICE."
Har Har Har.
As if it is MY fault that he put on "A Beautiful Mind" before he passed out, leaving it on to wake me up at 2 am to scenes of Russell Crowe's schizophrenically engineered hallucinations? As if it is MY fault that he is married to a brilliant woman with an overly active imagination who takes that suggestion of hallucinated people and morphs them into psychos who like to walk in circles in your family room?
I'll tell you what really sucks; It really sucks to be scared out of your wits at 2 am by what you are positive is an intruder going through the bag of cat food*. It's even better when you have to rouse the world's deepest sleeper for an EMERGENCY. Ever try to do that? Ever try to wake the dead in a hurry? And do it quietly?
Me, poking him incessantly in the ribcage, "Pat. Paaattt!!!"
Poke, poke, POKE! Anxiously peering into the hallway, after noticing that I can't easily grab my freaking ninja sword**.
"WAKE UP! But shhhhh!!!"
Rinse and repeat. AND REPEAT. Until finally,
"WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING? WHAT? HUH? WHAT'S WRONG? WHAT'S DOWNSTAIRS? WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME? WHY DO I NEED TO BE QUIET?!?"
This would all have been much more amusing had I not been absolutely shaking with fear.
At this point, I was positive that the psycho was smart enough to hide around the corner of the stair case, just out of sight from the top and there was no way I was going down by myself! So, while I silently jumped from foot to foot, wringing my hands (true story. My hands were actually wrung last night), he slooooooowly slipped on a pair of shorts so as to be decent for the paramedics in case he was murdered.
I shit you not.
After heroically pushing each other in front of ourselves, we crept down the creaky stairs and saw... Nothing. Thankfully, there wasn't an intruder or even a hallucination. Just our aging cats pattering around, rummaging in food bags and knocking glasses over. Once we secured the premises and were trudging back upstairs, Patrick shot me a sleepy dirty look that said "you got me out of bed for THAT?"
I guess he would have preferred that there actually WAS an intruder. I mean, he went to the trouble of putting his pants on for NOTHING!
*yes, this should have been my first clue that it was a CAT and not a HUMAN but it was 2 AM FOLKS.
**Yes. I have a Ninja sword. It's under my dresser by my bed but I couldn't find it because I would have had to move the stuff I put in front of it to stop the kids from playing with it. I didn't want to move the stuff because that would have made too much noise and given the crazy person *** an even greater upper hand. Maybe not the best spot to store it after all? It's ok, though; I grabbed a plastic hanger instead. Just as good, really.
*** the other one. Not myself.
Love you honey!
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