A V-Day Horror Story (Not My Own)

I found this story particularly amusing, because I can completely relate to being totally weird and neurotic about the neighborhoods I find safe and comfortable in daylight suddenly becoming the perfect setting for horrible acts to occur as soon as the clock passes midnight. I blame Cinderella; that story permanently engraves in little kids’ minds “midnight” as the magic time when everything changes from good to bad.

Anyway, here is an amusing anecdote from Ben and Monica, an adorable couple I have never met in real life, but would like to.

Valentine’s Horror

My wife made an awesome Valentine’s Dinner for my on Tuesday night. It was toasted ravioli with salad, and a piece of pecan pie (my absolute favorite). We ate at our table with some pretty heart shaped candles and our nice crystal candles. After that we cuddled up and watched TV and stayed up until 1 AM because that is when Gilmore Girls came on at midnight. Sounds like a perfect night, but bad things always happen on “perfect nights.”

Monica went to bed and I decided to take Cali to pee in the front yard because the backyard was muddy. Cali, being the wild beast she is, found a dead bird amongst some leaves and ate it! I tried to stop her, but to no avail–she took care of that bird, that poor dead bird. In the intense struggle, I touched the dead bird in her mouth and felt like I needed a good handwashing. I washed my hands in the bathroom quite compulsively to get the obsessive thoughts of contracting the bird flu out of my mind. I then remembered I had some hand sanitizer in the car. “I’ll be right back,” I mutter to myself and to my sleeping wife Monica. In horror movie language, that means I’m gonna get axed. I go outside, get in the car, and sanitize my hands. As I am getting out of the car I see it . . .

I freaked out because I left the front door open and I was sure whoever had something to do with it was in my house killing my wife. I run inside, my heart beating and my adrenaline pumping and nothing. No man, no sound, just my wife sleeping like an angel. I say, “Oh my goodness, baby, there is an homeless person bike in our front yard on the other side of my truck.” “What are you talking about?” she says. “There is a bike in our front yard and it is 1:30 in the morning.” She immediately runs to the window to look at the bike while I am freaking out–what if the scary bike owner is lurking around our house? What if has been watching my every move? I called the police station–”An adult bike is in my yard, can you send a patrol car.” They said yes and we waited and waited.

All the sudden my wife yells at me with a whisper, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, some man just got on the bike and is riding off, come look.” I looked, but I missed him, but apparently he came from somewhere across the street, got on his bike and drove off down the middle of the street. I call the cops back and tell them they don’t have to send anybody. They send two cars by anyway (10 minutes later) and shine their lights around, but no scary bike man in sight!

What did scary bike man want? Where did he come from? Why a bike? We have two hypotheses: 1. Having a secret affair or 2. Smoking and/or purchasing the reefer (marijuana for you older readers) from the guys (late teenage boys) who smoke the weed across the street. The bike–we can’t figure out, but it was parked in our yard, next to my truck, at 1:30 AM.

(source: Barefoot in Memphis)

Labels: anecdotes and opinions, humor