Monday, January 21, 2013

The Girl Who Cried Creeper

     It's good to be able to laugh at yourself, right? I feel like that's a thing people say. I hope so, because I had an incredibly stupid moment recently. Actually I've had several, but let's keep a sense of mystery there, at least for today. Let me tell you the ridiculously idiotic thing I did.

     A few nights ago, in the midst of one of my fits of tossing and turning while I tried to let the soothing sounds of Golden Girls lull me to sleep, I rolled over and looked out the window. It's usually pitch black outside because there's nothing around except cows, and they're not exactly going to be prancing around at night wearing light up sneakers. But on this night, there was a strange light outside. A very bright, yellow light.

     Because I am nervous freak with an overactive imagination, I immediately convinced myself that there was a madman standing outside with a flashlight, watching the house, probably contemplating where to splash gasoline to get the most efficient burn going.

     Or maybe the light of my tv was illuminating my room enough that he was watching ME, thinking about the best self-tanner to use on the suit he planned to make from my skin!

     Paralyzed with fear, I tried to come up with a plan, but nothing came to mind. All I knew from my limited exposure to scary movies was that if I fled to an upstairs corner while being chased or engaged in a sassy lingerie pillowfight with girlfriends, I'd be dead for sure. Feeling relatively safe from the latter point, and pretty much screwed on the former (Hi Mr. Serial-Killer, I've made your job super easy as my room IS an upstairs corner! Ain't I a peach?)

     Now feeling the cold fog of imminent doom seeping under every door and window, I decided I'd have to wake someone up to help. After all, I'm blonde. Blondes never survive to the end of the movie. I slowly rolled over to face away from the window-- slow enough, I thought, that it might look as though I was just rolling over in my sleep to any creepy creepers creepin' creepily outside. I reached slowly for my glasses so as not to betray any movement, pulled them carefully onto my face, then WHIPPED around as fast as I could to hopefully catch a glimpse of the shadowy outline of the  would-be ax murderer/arsonist/all-around weirdo so I could at least possibly tell if he was an armed creep or a more benign entry-level creep artist.

     And do you know what I saw? What was stalking my home with bad intentions?


     It was the moon.


Aaaghhh, MOON, you cheeky bastard!

     It was setting over the hill across the street in a way that, to my shoddy glasses-less eyes, had looked like a yellow light floating in the middle of the road.

     But you know what the worst part is? I'VE DONE THIS ONCE BEFORE. The exact same thing, a few months ago. Fool me once, moon, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me a third time and I'll just go set myself adrift on a polar ice flow because clearly I'm too stupid to survive.

     Thank God I'm getting my vision corrected in a few days, before I get a chance to confuse a tree for a dragon and die of a heart attack.

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