Sometimes bad things happen to funny people!
In 2005, we had a close encounter with a middle of the night intruder in our home. While I slept blissfully unaware of any shenanigans going on (shenanigans is a funny word, intruder is not), our mystery visitor was stealthily running through the house canvassing each room for take-out!
Only Mom and I were home. Mom noticed a shadowy figure running past her in the living room, up the stairs to my bedroom. Being just shy of her 88th birthday at the time, blind in 1 eye, hearing challenged in both ears, and recovering from a broken hip, her first thought was, "I can take him!"
Luckily for him, he high-tailed it back out the kitchen window when he saw Supergrandma shuffling towards him with the aid of her walker. Super G was later quoted as saying, "I would have grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed him in his "high-tail" if only I could have gotten to him sooner." No one messes with Super G!
Two years later, Wolfgang, my fearless assistant and protector was quoted as saying, "You should have adopted me sooner."
Luckily for us, Mr. Mephostopheles only committed cat burglary and not mayhem on our persons. Crikey!
The local gendarmes dusted our kitchen table for fingerprints, but alas, found none. Not even ours. How strange or incompetent is that?
The only thing stolen was my purse. But my purse contained all my worldly belongings, so that was a huge "only".
Post-traumatic stress results:
- I'm now afraid of thingies in the night.
- I sleep with my purse and Wolfgang.
- We now leave post-its for an intruder such as, "Go away, I've already been burgled." or "Please return my missing unposted humor column article (the Pulitzer Prize winning one) that was in my purse!"
Moral of this story: Don't keep your purse in the kitchen.