The Wind Blew Open a Door --Bridget Stuart
I should have known yesterday would be a doozy by the way it started out. In the morning after the kids hustled off to school, I walked into the breakfast room, and there on the table was the gorgeous three-pound fancy box of See's Candies I'd special-ordered for my son's teachers--surrounded by torn gold wrapping, the top open, with four chocolates missing.Yes, I think I shouted some obscenities as I clutched at my face in a very Greek-tragedy way. No, I didn't score my cheeks with my nails; I am not Medea.
When my 13-year-old son asked the night before if he could have some chocolate, I'd said yes, assuming it was obvious that he could take some from the small un-fancy box I'd wisely ordered in anticipation of such requests. The one that was ALREADY OPEN. Heh, heh, heh (bitter laughter)
So anyway, after I calmed down, I washed my hands and inserted truffles from the un-fancy box into the fancy box to fill the empty spaces and re-assembled the lot, then made my way across town to the school. They were having a special assembly for parents to watch students talk about their volunteer work, and applaud the other parents who gave so much time and help to the school this year. (Cough, adjust collar, slump in seat at the back of the room.)
Right after my son's presentation (in which guilty confessions about chocolate played no role), my cell phone rang. I'd forgotten to turn it off.
Grab purse, run out of room, decide maybe it's an important call and click it on. It's Brinks --my home security service--phoning up to tell me there was an intruder alarm at my house, and asking if they want me to call the police.
Huh?
Like I'm going to say no, never mind?
I thought they *automatically* sent the police.
What if I hadn't picked up the phone?
Okay, whatever, I run outside, dive into the car, pedal to the metal, trying to get there before the police do. Because damn it, I didn't get to clean the house today. I didn't even MAKE THE BEDS. I'm thinking they'll be so appalled at the orange juice cups in the living room and the piles of laundry on the floor that they won't even notice a thief lurking under the coffee table.
Now, what is wrong with me that instead of worrying about my computers or the family heirlooms, I'm worried the police will find out I'm a slob? Is it pride? Is it social pressure? Is it...some kind of INSANITY?
You tell me.
posted by bridget @ 7:43 AM
12 Comments:
Don't feel so bad, Bridget. If you've ever watched Cops, you know the police have seen much, MUCH worse that orange juice cups and laundry.
By the way, was everything all right at home? Did your son spill the beans about the box of candy?
Oh, Bridget, you had me rolling on the floor laughing, as usual.
That reminds me of the time I smelled smoke in our house, but couldn't find where it was coming from for anything! So, being the sister of a fireman, I figured I'd better call the guys who drive the big red trucks to come and check it out.
I called and said, "I can smell smoke, faintly, somewhere in my house...but I can't find where it is. Could you send someone out to just check it out for me? You don't need to use sirens or send the trucks or anything...."
"Ma'am, we'll send someone right over. But you need to get yourself and your kids out of the house."
So, of course I complied. This was a Saturday afternoon in the fall, so all of the neighbors were home to see not one, not two, but four--count'em four!-- fire trucks come blazing up, sirens roaring, firefighters tumbling out in droves.
It turned out to be the wind blowing down through our chimney and the smoke smell came through from that.
I was so embarrassed.
I hope everything was okay at your home, Bridget--sounds like a door had just gotten blown open?--and that the roaring sirens from the cops didn't get you in the paper.
LOLOL, Bridget!!!
And Colleen!!! Four trucks of firefighters??? :::SWOON:::
Karen, you're right, maybe I should turn on "Cops" and get a better perspective! Smart woman! And yes, it was all fine--my same son had left the back door to the garage unlocked and the wind blew open the door.
Another funny detail was that I ran back to close the door, the alarm was going like crazy, and there in the backyard not ten feet away was the pool guy with his headphones on, smiling and wielding his pool brush, grooving out. I had to jump and seesaw my arms to get his attention. He'd been there for almost 30 minutes and hadn't noticed a thing! He took off his phones and hung around while I checked the house for intruders (and swept big piles of junk into drawers and closets--yes I beat the police there).
Colleen! I'm freaking out along with Mary-- FOUR trucks??? Look on the bright side, I'm sure you made the day of all kids under ten in the neighborhood!
What is it with this obsession we have about perfectly tidy/clean houses?
I mean, I'm a slob. I admit it. And I'm perfectly happy being a slob.
Given the choice between housework and pretty much anything else -- writing my books, gardening, making quilts, sitting and staring into space -- I'm going to choose the "anything else," and feel that I've chosen wisely.
I mean, who wants "she kept a clean house" on her tombstone, instead of "she wrote great books" or "she made beautiful quilts" or even "she sat and stared into space" on her tombstone?
And yet, I go into a tizzy at the thought of anyone -- especially STRANGERS, not even the people I care about impressing -- seeing the pathetic results of my being a slob. It's just crazy. Why do we do this to ourselves?
Sorry about the rant. I'm overdue for today's session of staring into space, I guess.
What is it with this obsession we have about perfectly tidy/clean houses?
I mean, I'm a slob. I admit it. And I'm perfectly happy being a slob.
Given the choice between housework and pretty much anything else -- writing my books, gardening, making quilts, sitting and staring into space -- I'm going to choose the "anything else," and feel that I've chosen wisely.
I mean, who wants "she kept a clean house" on her tombstone, instead of "she wrote great books" or "she made beautiful quilts" or even "she sat and stared into space" on her tombstone?
And yet, I go into a tizzy at the thought of anyone -- especially STRANGERS, not even the people I care about impressing -- seeing the pathetic results of my being a slob. It's just crazy. Why do we do this to ourselves?
Sorry about the rant. I'm overdue for today's session of staring into space, I guess.
Yes, Bridget, you are insane. But very entertaining!!!
Diane
Diane, BWAHAHA, okay! I got my answer. I asked for it, didn't I?
Gin, I'm going to join you with the staring into space. It helps you overlook the state of the house, that's for sure.
I hate it when the darn alarm goes off, especially since if the police come more than twice and it's a false alarm (which all of our have been), you get fined. We got a call in the middle of the night once while we were on vacation at Disney World. It was the alarm company calling my cell to tell us the alarm was going off at home. Ugh.
BRIDGET!!!! You do NOT go into a house that might have a prowler in it. Girl, you get 50 wet noodle lashes for that one. Would it really matter if there was laundry on the floor if you got yourself raped or killed? Sorry, with three cops in the family, I hear all the horror stories and it scares me to think what might have happened--pool boy or no pool boy.
Did you remember to give the candy to the teachers before you hightailed it out of there?
And yes, I did laugh in spite of wanting to throttle you for risking your life like that. :)
And you know what readers would say if one of our heroines did that, right??????
Love ya!
Trish, thanks for the warning about the fine! I guess it was a good thing the police didn't come after all, then ?
Tori, smooch for caring and that good advice. I felt ok doing it because the alarm had been going for thirty minutes in broad daylight, which meant the pool guy was also there when it started--not a likely condition for a thief to break in in the first place, and plenty of time for the intruder to get away if he had been there at all. But no quibbling, I promise not to do it next time.
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