It's undoubtedly a conspiracy. To have me committed. Or worse. My only question is, "Why is the hubby trying so hard?" I'm doing a darn good job at this insanity thing without any help, thank you very much.

Two weeks ago, I shared a story about an avalanche of slushy, mucky snow that ended up on my head (see She Loves Him--NOT) and the hubby being banned from pushing my buttons. Oh, he pushes my buttons all right, just not the ones in my car. 

The Tuesday after the avalanche episode, hubby informed me he was going to the boy's basketball game at the high school after dinner. SWEET! Quiet time to write. I slipped out of my work clothes and into my pj's and slippers and disappeared into the den when I remembered I needed to check one of the solar lights along the front walkway. I hollered "have fun!" to hubby and went out the front door, grateful it was dark so the neighbors didn't freak out of they saw me in my pink pj's and fuzzy slippers. The garage door closed and I waved into the darkness at my wonderful husband. I'm pretty sure I saw him sneer.

The subdivision is surrounded by Forest Service land so some of our visitors arrive on four hooves instead of four wheels and our cul-de-sac is quiet. I'm quite certain you can hear the stars twinkle if you listen closely. I've never heard them because I'm the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi when it comes to the dark. Humans, especially this one, don't have the proper eyesight for scavenging in the dark. I leave that to the creepy night things--like vampires, scorpions, bats and zombies and not necessarily in that order. You're welcome at my house any time--the lights are always on. 

I was busy messing with the solar light, (they aren't very bright) when I heard thumping to my left. From the street. I couldn't look. About the same time every bone in my legs dissolved, I heard the first snuffle. Then a snort. I froze. Of course, I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to and if I had, every ounce of bladder control I possessed would have failed. Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump...that was NOT me. Or the neighbors. My legs had about as much strength as overcooked noodles. Doomed for sure. Somehow, I rose and turned very slowly toward them and hollered "HA" and RAN. I slammed into the door and pressed the handle. LOCKED! How did that happen? I just came from there. And those "things" are right behind me ready to nip at my heels, or disembowel me, whichever came first. The creatures of the night are scratching and sniffing and snorting and I have nowhere to go. Aha! Side yard gate...one, two, three--GO!

In the fifty feet I had to run (in fuzzy slippers and no bra) all I could think about was being attacked and mauled, bloody and ripped apart limb by limb, then drug over the cliff across the street for a late night snack for a dozen javelinas. As I ran (seemed like an eternity) I figured I could fling myself up on the metal latch of the five foot wooden fence (it's always locked) and with sheer determination and a hefty doze of adrenalin infused fear, swing my leg over and scramble down to the compost bin and pray I don't fall in. Out of desperation, I grabbed the gate knowing the full extent of my non-existent climbing skills to find it NOT locked! How did that happen? 

Inside the fence. Safe. Panting frantically, I stared at the side entry off the garage. If it's locked, I'm seriously going to kill that man. Fortunately for him, it was not locked, like it usually is (how'd that happen?). With a renewed sense of purpose, I grabbed my phone and sent my beloved a text--WHO LOCKS THEIR WIFE OUT OF THE HOUSE IN THE DARK, WITH A PACK OF ATTACKING JAVELINAS , AND LIVES TO TELL ABOUT IT? I pressed 'send'. Jingle, jingle...gee, he left his phone at home. Imagine that. 

He's so dead meat. Thursdays didn't look good for him the week before and now Tuesdays aren't looking much better. On the positive side, I did not have to find out if fuzzy slippers kept their 'fuzzies' after being washed. I think I gained a few gray hairs, but I didn't wet my pants. 

Have you ever been locked out of the house at night? Or any time? I'd love to hear about it. The dear man did manage to lock me out one other time...but that's a story for another day. A bit of summer heat. 

As a footnote, Collared Peccary--commonly called javelina--are not pigs or rodents. I can't spell what they are, and don't really care. Their eyesight is extremely poor and if they can't see what is threatening them, they will attack and ask questions later--especially if they have young ones. They can tear a dog or cat apart in a matter of seconds. And they smell. It's a kind of bold, musky, wild sort of odor--and not the sort I associate with a hero from a Harlequin romance. It's nasty. Trust me. Especially up close and personal.  

Until next time--
Happy Reading, Happy Writing!


photo courtesy of Wikipedia


joyce crockett
03/11/2013 10:38pm


03/12/2013 12:40am

You sure do have some excitement in your neck of the woods. If that were my hubby, I'm not sure he'd still be alive to tell the tale. ;)


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