SEAR-EE-usly

Someone pounded on the living room windows from the porch at my mom's house when I was home alone, watching TV. I was 15, living in a town where maybe 2,000 lived and thought that was most decidedly the last moment of my short, dull life.

But I didn't die. Hooray. I heard laughing, then running. Ah, well. Boys.

I still don't know who it was, but I do know that I still have that slightly annoyed, slightly timid demeanor when I'm home alone because I'm sure those dumb classmates of mine will return just to mess with me. Yeah. In Oshkosh. After watching one of Dateline's murder mysteries.

Anyhow.

So when Dave called me last night at 11:30 to say he was going to the bar to see his friend play a show, and oh, good night, smooches, etc., I expected the next time I'd be consciously aware of him was the next morning when I asked him to iron my pants (because that's how we roll, four days a week).

You can imagine my vomit-inducing panic, then, when he showed up at midnight. I was past dreaming and into not-messing-around sleeping when I heard someone in the room. I opened my eyes and saw a silhouette against the stairwell light, but not before yelling something I can't type here, followed by a defamation of Jesus and a couple saints in a combo with "DAVID EDGAR."

Then I punched him.

"Jeez, what's your deal?" he asked, defending himself.

Um, hello?? Dateline? Boys? Ugh!