December 3rd, 2008
I’m a little nutso about home security, as in completely insane. I always need the doors locked and at night, I only leave the bedroom windows open a crack in case an enterprising burglar rock climbs our sheer walls to gain access.
I absolutely must have our home alarm at all times and have an escape plan all worked out in case someone breaks in and triggers the warning system, a plan (scream) that went unimplemented the night the alarm actually did go off and I sat there like an idiot just waiting to be found by Bloody McMurdersalot.
So I’m paranoid. Two tons and twenty sixpence percent. One night, our doorbell rang at 3AM and The Rock went downstairs to answer it while I beseeched him not to open the door. I mean, really? Come on! Hello? Crack-addled sociopaths much? Roaming neighborhoods after midnight hoping someone will be unparanoid just enough to answer their front door?! Until a stupid non-paranoid door-opener is mutilated and sold for body parts/or eaten on the open market?
For crap sakes, DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR!
So he didn’t because my brain hemorrhaging distracted him.
Then last night, right before bed, I noticed our unset alarm keypad was blinking red, which meant a door or window in our house was open. After some checking, I discovered that The Rock never closed the garage door after work. Meaning the door, which opens to an unsavory-ish alley, had been open for hours. This fact unnerved and unsettled me. As I shut the door, I imagined that someone had probably wandered into our home from the open garage and was now hiding somewhere inside just waiting for us to fall asleep so they could do whatever unsavory alley dwellers do to sleeping people (search them for recyclables?)
After a thorough reconnaissance, and checking for alley people behind shower curtains, under window seats, or diabolically disguised as The Rock, I came to our Harry Potter closet. This thing winds under the stairs and always has spiders in it. So it’s dead to me. Still, I had to assume that someone was probably lurking in it. So I rigged up this makeshift home security system designed to alert me to any funny alley dweller business. If someone planned to emerge from this closet after midnight to murder us, I’d know thanks to the deafening sound of a tennis shoe dropping.
Nothing untoward happened last night thankfully, but I still don’t think The Rock is who he claims to be.