A few weeks back I received the following text from my sister/neighbor: Be sure to lock your house up tight when you leave for work. Just heard that the house up the block was broken into yesterday. And that bit of information was then followed a few hours later with reports of other break-ins in the neighborhood.
Now I'm sure that the astute reader would not be surprised to discover that that one little text has set off a chain of events in my head from which I am unlikely to recover anytime soon, my friends.
But not in the way you might think.
Of course the thoughts of a rational person would head in the direction of hiding jewelry. . . making sure windows were closed and locked. . double-barring deck doors. . .you know. . . the usual security-kind-of-stuff.
But not me.
MY troubled and undun mind barrelled right to the very thing next to Godliness.
Can I ask you. . . IS THERE ANOTHER STARK-STARING LUNATIC OUT THERE WHO MAKES SURE HER HOUSE IS SPIC-AND-SPAN WHEN SHE LEAVES JUST IN CASE IT IS BURGLARIZED WHILE SHE'S AWAY?
What's with THAT?
Why would I think a burglar would ever pass judgement on my housekeeping skills? Would a common thief make a face upon entering a house where the dishwasher wasn't empty? Shake his head at breakfast dishes in the sink? Tisk-Tisk at toothpaste remnants in the bathroom?
And then there's the police who would invariably be called upon the discovery. What would they think if the burglarized house was actually lived in? If there were dust bunnies in the gaping hole where the 52-inch big-screen t.v. once stood? If the crime scene contained indisputable proof that the victims owned a good-natured-but-overly-furry guard dog?
I'm not saying I'm ill.
I'm just saying I'm sick.
quite sick. . .