When we moved into our neighborhood, nearly eight months ago, I was elected Neighborhood Watch President…okay, no one acknowledged my campaign, therefore I was self-elected, but hey, it counts.
The more eyes the better, right?
I woke up yesterday, on a normal Friday, unbeknownst I’d be called into action…
I drank my coffee, got the beauties ready for school (“Yes girls, I know you despise
being woke up school, but it’s Friday!!! You. Are. Going.” “Mom, you are ruining my life, they grumbled in unison.”), then watched all three of them catch the bus (Amelia running after it, me cheering, FASTER, RUN FASTER, YOU CAN DO IT!), and then pushed the husband out the door (which means my attempts at begging him to play hookie from work didn’t pan out) and finally wrapped up the morning by getting Bella situated with morning cartoons and breakfast.
So there I am, sitting at my desk, creeping behind my Mac–checking my e-mail, paying bills (gag, rolls eyes), and minding my own business, definitely not snooping on my neighbors outside my office’s bay window, when a random vehicle parks directly in front of my house.
It just sits on the street, parked, right in front of my house.
Nobody gets out, no movement, nothing…
I sit at my desk, peeking out the window from behind my computer, staring at the violating vehicle like I can actually see through metal. After my stare down bares no fruit, I get up and go to the dining window and do the side peek through the curtains. Like one eye blinking, about to solve a mystery Magoo.
Still, the vehicle continues to sit there.
Suddenly, the phone rings and I jump out of my skin, nearly hitting the ceiling like every scared cat ever.
It’s the bestie, so swiftly in five seconds flat, I fill her in. “There is a burglar parked in front of my house…” She screams call the POLICE and every scary movie I’ve watched rapidly bombards my brain!
I hang up with her and drop to the floor. Yes, I’m crawling on the floor, yelling at the two-year old to get down.
At this point, I’ve moved on from thinking burglary to straight DRIVE BY.
I call dispatch and force myself to not cry out, “HELP ME! I’M ABOUT TO BE SHOT!”
I am not dramatic at all.
So instead, I quickly relay, “um, yes…it’s not an emergency, but there is a suspicious vehicle parked in front of my house.”
The sweet dispatcher says she’ll send a patrol car and then I call Travis. Because of course, being a tad dramatic, I’ve got to call my husband and freak him out!
“Travis, I’ve got the AR-15 out of the safe and I’m about to mow this truck, parked outside our house, down!”
I’ll omit what he said after I dropped that bomb…
Bestie calls back, she says, “I’m assuming since you’ve answered, you’re still alive…”
It takes all I have not to whimper back, “He’s says to just pay the ransom.” But I’m not that sick, so I don’t.
And thirty-five minutes later, as quietly as the vehicle showed up, it left just as undramatically—life on Wisteria Lane is well again…
Bestie and I stay on the phone until I could see the cruiser patrolling down my street…eleven minutes too late. This is where I tell you, remember earlier when I listed my morning activities, none of those said, brushed teeth, got dressed, put on bra, combed hair, and attempted not to look boho bum.
So I stepped out onto my front porch, ready to wave them on. Clearly there is nothing to talk about, the nappers are long gone.
I’m two beats away from lifting my hand to wave at their patrol cars parked in front of my house, when not one, but two officers walk up from the corner of my garage.
Who ever said “that only happens in the movies” was lying. Who knew that real men in blue, really do look like Magic Mike actors in real life…
I’m standing there, speechless in very unflattering pj bottoms, an oversized t-shirt (which doesn’t match said pj bottoms), an oversized grandma sweater, no-make up or eyebrows, with a top not doubling as a bird’s nest created by a rabid, deranged bird, to top off the look.
So of course, I babble, stutter, and represent myself as a slightly demented, clearly desperate housewife, who is in the middle of a strange mid-mommy life crisis. Hello, my wardrobe.
I might have sounded just like this….“Hhhh-hi,
Mike (Are you really the police, or did my bestie send strippers—because she would totally do that, I thought.) Um, um, um, I swear the rrrrrrrobbber was here, but he left. Without taking anything, bbbbbut, it was definitely a robber.”
After they left, I may or may not have told my friends that from now on I might start finding reasons to call the men in blue…
I’m totally kidding, but thank goodness we have brave men willing to walk the line everyday for our lives…and step-up (unknowingly) to be objectified by housewives…