Remember the hammer I nearly used to destroy my husband’s talking blender a few days ago?
Well…I ended up sleeping with it last night.
(This is why I need to stop watching AMC’s “The Killing” right before bedtime.)
I was alone at our condo while Scott was away for work. (Thankfully he’s back now. For good!)
Let’s just say there were some strange noises occurring around here.
In my mind, these strange noises were blog stalkers climbing up the wall of my building so they may sneak into my bedchamber, bludgeon me to death, and runaway with Jolie. Obviously they had evil plans of turning her into a celebri-pooch and profiting from her fine, fine acting skills.
In reality, the strange noises were probably just the footsteps of the man who lives above me getting up to use the bathroom.
But I ran to the living room and grabbed my security hammer, just in case.
After praying for my safety for at least thirty minutes, I finally fell asleep. I awoke this morning, fully in tact, and feeling quite silly for being afraid of something so preposterous.
And then our intercom rang.
The building we live in is secure. If someone wants to pay us a visit, they call us from the entrance and let us know they’ve arrived so we can buzz them in. I wasn’t expecting any visitors this morning, and was slightly confused when I heard the intercom go off.
I got up from my desk to answer the call. I must have said “Hello?” at least seven times.
Yet there was no answer. Only very heavy breathing.
You know…the kind of breathing that can only come from someone who is about to violently scramble your brains with a blunt object before running off to Hollywood with your ridiculously talented chihuahua.
Needless to say, I didn’t buzz them in.
I returned to my desk, and took a few deep breaths. Just as I was starting to calm down, Jolie went crazy. She sprinted to the door, snarling and barking with all of her might.
Someone was outside our door.
And then there was a knock. A slow, ominous knock that was clearly of malicious intent.
Our door was locked…but what if they kicked it down? We don’t have a peep-hole, so I had no way of looking my killer in the face without actually opening the door myself.
I sprinted back to the living room, grabbed the hammer, and prepared to meet my fate. I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I gripped the weapon in my right hand, raised it high above my head, and slowly cracked open the door.
These were there waiting for me.
Suddenly, I came to the humiliating realization that I had quite literally feared I would be murdered by the designer underwear my husband had ordered from Gilt.com.
The UPS man was long gone down the hallway. It was just me, my hammer and the killer man panties.
At that very moment, Jolie trotted into the entryway. I could swear the sigh she let out was one of disgust, shame and perhaps even an ounce or two of pity. What can I say? I totally deserved it.
I’m not quite sure which upsets me more…the notion that Scott spent so much money on two pairs of underwear, or the fact that I nearly attacked his Calvin Klein banana hammocks with a mallet.
Actually, I think what bothers me most is that, judging by the way he creepily breathed into the intercom, our UPS guy has a serious case of asthma that is clearly going untreated.
Looks like I’ll be getting him an inhaler for Christmas.
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