Last night, I was sleeping and felt cold. No big deal. I pulled up the blanket. Then, I felt a cold breeze on my face. My eyes opened and I sat up. You don’t get breezes in your bedroom. I looked over, and the door from our bedroom to the deck outside was standing open. Adrenaline rushed through my body and I waited for an ax-wielding lunatic to lop off my head. I mean, why else would anyone break into our house, we have nothing to steal? In the moment while I was waiting for the inevitable decapitation, I said to Cal, “The door is open.” He said, “Close it.” He’s like that—cool in the moment of craziness. I, on the other hand, was still considering whether the lamp on the nightstand would work as a weapon.
When the sure doom had passed, I closed the door, realizing that someone (Calvin, which explains his composure in the light of our imminent demise) must’ve have let the dog outside through our door earlier in the day and not closed the door properly and it blew open during the night.
|I wish my bedroom door looked like this. But it's a boring suburban white door. This is much more exciting and seems like something an ax-murderer might come through. Image courtesy of Wikimedia.|