Monday, December 8, 2008
Someone tried to steal my George Foreman grill
which subsequently resulted in my husband triumphantly brandishing his machete. Oh, we thought, and hoped, the day would never come. Nevertheless, at approximately 2400 hours, we were abruptly awakened by a loud crash in our kitchen. We both sat straight up in bed, looked at each other with a frightened "What the hell was that?" face and contemplated the scary thought of someone, again, stealing (or worse) our possessions. I proceeded to pull the covers over my face while Adam snuck quietly out of bed and reached up inside the closet for his cherished weapon. Amazingly enough, through my terror, I was able to conceive the thought that Adam must be thinking that this was at least a little bit cool...which, he later confirmed, was true; I also remember thinking, "holy crap, this is taking entirely too long for him to get his sword and confront the intruder," which he also later confirmed was true. So Adam in his g's and I in my robe crept slowly and quietly through our long hallway expecting to meet we knew not whom in our violated kitchen. When we arrived, we found not a robber but a cracked George Foreman grill resting helplessly on the edge of our counter top. Don't worry, it still works, despite the random five foot fall from the top shelf. All is well. I love my lean mean fat reducing grilling machine so don't anyone else think of messing with it.
Oh, and Duane and Eli slept through the whole thing. I hope that Duane is a somewhat more useful guard dog in case of a real break in.