This week was a big pile of Bantha poodoo. Not only did I end up in the e.r. for chest pains on Wednesday night (that’s a whole separate post that will be coming soon), but then on Friday morning I had one of the scariest experiences of my life.
I awoke at 5:30 a.m. because Gracie was standing on the bed, staring at the door, and barking. This was a little alarming to wake up to, but the truly scary part wad that I could see light from out in the house streaming under my doorway…and I knew I had turned all the lights off before I went to bed.
Oh, and I was home alone because the boy’s new job requires some overnights out of town.
I grabbed Gracie, my phone, and a knife and locked us all up in the master bathroom. Since I knew the bedroom door was locked, I figured I’d at least bought myself some time.
Now, my first thought was that maybe the boy had gotten home early. So, I tried calling him. And I kept trying to call him. I sent a text. I got no responses.
I could hear faint noises from out in the house, but was unsure if I was hearing the cats, or if someone was in the house.
Finally, I dialed 911 and told the dispatcher that I thoughtthere was an intruder. She stayed on the phone with me while I waited for the cops to arrive. It only took a few minutes, but those minutes felt like hours. Eventually, I heard what sounded like faint knocking. I asked the dispatcher if it was the cops, and she confirmed it was and said it was okay to go answer the door.
I crept out from the bathroom, convinced that an attacker was lurking, waiting to grab me. When I opened the bedroom door, my heart nearly stopped because all the lights in the house were now off. I knew that at least one light had been on, which confirmed my fear that there was an intruder.
I made my way down the hallway, freaking out on the phone to the dispatcher, because I was convinced something terrible was about to happen. I must have looked super intimidating in my pink, fluffy bathrobe, phone in one hand, knife in the other. And by intimidating, I mean hilarious.
And then, I entered the living room…
“Hey, babe.” The sleepy voice of my husband greeted me from the couch.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that relieved, pissed, and embarrassed all at once. I may have muttered something along the lines of, “I love you, but I’m gonna kill you!”
I switched on a light, and wrapped in my fluffy pink bathrobe I went to the door and proceeded to explain to a very kind/slightly amused police officer that while someone was actually in the house, it was my husband. The officer assured me that they were just glad everything was okay, and I did the right thing by calling since I hadn’t known for sure.
They left. I went in and kissed the boy and he told me his phone had been set to “do not disturb” and he’d been trying to let me get sleep since the week had been a sleepless one for me. Part of me melted because he’s so thoughtful and sweet. The non-melted part requested that in the future he either text me he’s headed home early, or turn off “do not disturb.”
And that, kids, is the story of how I called the cops on my husband.