"My husband's in the shower."

Last night was my first run-in with OMG, what if I get mass-murdered and Mr. Wookie's not here to defend me, help kill the guy, and dump his body in international waters?!?!


The night was like every other night. If every other night involves single-person dinners, a couple glasses of wine, a dog that thinks she's entitled to lick the top of my feet right off, and the back door open. Remember, it's California. Our game of 'play ball' can extend out the back door, into the grass, and around the corner of the house. Why run the 100 meter dash when you can run a marathon, right?


All of a sudden, Sweet Pea takes off. BARK, BARK, BARK, BARK towards the front gate.


Oh shit....."Sweet Pea, come here....here....come here....here here...."


And like any good dog...she doesn't come. She just barks. So in my bare feet I follow the circular step stone path around the side of the house. "Sweet Pea?" And there she is. Tail not wagging. Aggressive stance. She's got someone cornered outside the gate. Good girl. There's a reason why I like having her around. She just proved her keep tonight.


Long story short....I'm being peddled. "Do you have a table in your house we could sit down at?" Umm....buddy. That's a mega red flag. You obviously didn't pass How to Murder 101. You don't ask to sit down at my table unless you're pouring me a glass of wine and we're discussing the socio-economics of Serbia in the 1960's.


So I give you my front light near my gate. That's all you get. Now what are you selling again?? Children's books for low-income families. Okay, I'm listening. You'll throw in a car wash. I'm listening. It's tax deductible. Der. But I'm listening. How much do the books costs? Wait, I'm sorry. I was listening. $55 a book?? Wait, what?? And you want me to buy 4 books??


Umm....sniff sniff


Ahhh, yes. Let's weave in a story about how your dad's a Marine, and how he's making you pay your education. Umm...shouldn't you? Otherwise you're just another golden-spoon child who hasn't earned anything. But go ahead...I'm listening. Oh, let's weave in a story about how you grew up in Oregon (really, you're just toying with my heart)...cute that you actually know cities in Oregon, maybe I actually believe you on that one, but still...sniff sniff


And yes....let's discuss how you got engaged last night...Valentine's Day.................


I'll just leave it at that. You, my dear readers, can assume my mental monologue that occurred with that gem of information. Actually, let's try something new. You tell ME what you thought I was thinking with that gem of information... Use the comments. Please. Best response gets a high five. And a cocktail of their choice. When they visit my County (see how I did just that...especially for some people with family out here...*coughcough*).


"Do you have any information I can look over before I make my decision??"


Oh....you don't.....you "have to turn it in tomorrow." I thought this was for your application to culinary school. And so if this is your dream, why are you waiting until the very last night to accomplish this??


Sniff sniff.


Do you smell something fishy?? I sure do. Who doesn't have information their fundraising?? A form, maybe some contact information, and ....you know....maybe some Tax ID numbers...not just one laminated (shittily) page. And why are you waiting until night?? Do you know how unsafe that makes me feel while you try and rip off people?? Yes, I'm quite glad I had my vicious attack dog with access to my front gate. While she's not trained to bite male genitalia (yet), she at least made his butthole pucker.


So I bid him adieu, saying I don't make impulse purchases without waiting 3 days (no, really...I don't). And he walked himself to the yard's gate. I heard the gate close. And I walked inside my house, calling my guard dog behind me. I quickly locked the front door. I walked straight to the back door. I locked that too. I don't trust people. I just realized I was alone tonight and could die without anyone knowing (minus the whole not showing up for work the next morning). My (great) neighbors do know Mr. Wookie is active duty and not home at this moment, but is that enough?. Would they know my screams meant business and an intruder was invading?? I don't know. And I don't want to find out. I realized tonight I need a way to make it look like Mr. Wookie is home. Because I don't know if people believe the whole "my husband's in the shower" (because the whole "my awesome lifetime domestic male partner is in the shower" is just too long to say...).