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Saturday, January 25, 2014

Last night I went out with my friend and we were sitting in my driveway talking when we saw the lights on the garage go on and off. Not blinking, but on and off more than once like someone was in the house hitting the switch. She assumed my husband was home doing that, but I said he was working late. Then the lights turned off and then they dimmed and went back up. We looked at each other and said lights don’t do that when they burn out. So my friend called her husband on her phone and he said the same thing. So she offers to go inside with me to check it out and I’m thinking, my house is soooo messy right now. In fact, I’d rather risk the killer inside taking me hostage than be embarrassed in front of Holly.

 So I say, “I’ll go up to the door and see if the light I left on inside is on or not. I walk up the path and saw the porch light do the weird flipping on and off like someone inside was doing it. I also saw a shadow, which may or may not have been my own and there may or may not have been the wetting of pants. I cannot confirm or deny the wetting of the pants. So I went flying back to the car and my friend said her husband thought we should call the police because one light could burn out, but not 3 and not come back on in the strange fashion they were going on and off. Now he’s not a hysterical type and neither is she. They thought there was someone in the garage or house. But I’m thinking, no cops, I can’t have police come over because they will think I’m a crappy housekeeper. So I call my husband who I’m secretly hoping will say, “Oh that’s fine, nothing to worry about. Return to the perfectly safe house and save your dignity.” Instead, he says, “That sounds really weird. I’m coming home. Do not go inside.”

 So she and I went to the store down the street. We were already on edge when a fire truck comes screeching by followed by 3 cops cars with sirens, an ambulance and then another cop car. My husband gets to the house in record time (out of concern for me or fear the killer/robbers were taking his beloved possessions—you be the judge). As he goes up to the door, it happens again. So he comes right back out saying it’s fine. Holly and I look at each other and say in unison, “You couldn’t have check it that fast.” I’m assuming he saw the TV (my precious) was still there so he figured, “all clear.”

I went into the house and asked him to check all the closets and rooms. He says, “Bedroom’s clear.” Ok, this is him checking it: he put his head in the room and glanced around. Meanwhile, there's a long hall from the bedroom that has the bathtub and shower, and then the walk-in closet and then you get to the bathroom— none of which you can see from the door. Sigh. I mean, killers hide in closets and showers. This is a known fact. And don’t get me started on how there could be an escaped convict just waiting and lurking in the bathroom. I went to the kitchen and saw my microwave clock was off and that the cable box and it was off, too. So it appears the power went on and off at the exact moment we pulled in. It has been suggested the cold and slight wind knocked the power out for a minute just coincidentally as we were sitting outside. It has also been suggested that the fact this happened on the anniversary of a deceased relative’s birthday and another’s passing isn’t random. And let’s not rule out the escaped lunatic with the ax fetish.

 So if you don’t see me on Facebook or Twitter in some form tomorrow then just assume the killer hid out until bedtime and murdered me in my sleep. Oh, and if I am online please ask for the password “unicorn,” and if I cannot provide it to you, assume the murderer has taken my identity. Nothing like a good adrenaline surge to start off the weekend.

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