I trudged into bed at eleven at night. I’m a night owl and would prefer to stay up later, but I knew I’d have to wake up early to get Tommy to school the next day. And so I must force myself to be in bed by eleven because otherwise it’ll be much harder for me to wake up.
When I got to the bedroom, Tom’s massive man leg was stretched out over my side. I sighed and tried to push it away but it wouldn’t budge. In the end I just climbed into bed and shoved it away with my own legs.
“Cut it out!” Tom barked, but he thankfully withdrew his offending leg.
I started to drift off. I was about to sink into a world where there were no such things as calories or Spencer Pratt and then—
I sat bolt upright in bed. My husband didn’t even move. How could he have not heard that?
I was close to waking him up and telling him that he had to go check it out. Suppose it was a burglar? But I didn’t have time for him to wake up and throw on some pants since he sleeps in the buff. (I really wish he wouldn’t do this. I’d rather not have his bare ass cheeks pressing against my sheets.)
I took a deep breath and decided that I’d be brave. I grabbed my book that was beside me and figured if it was a burglar, that I could hurl it at his or her head. It was a pretty thick book so it could do some damage. (It was The White Queen by Philippa Gregory if you’re curious.) I cautiously stepped out the bedroom door and craned my ear towards the stairs to see if I could hear anything.
I didn’t. The house was silent and dark. The only noises I could make out were the whirl of the fans.
I slowly descended the stairs, holding the book out in front of me.
But then I saw what made the noise.
Our cat Max must’ve spotted a moth and had jumped up to get it and the whole blind came crashing down.
I’m grateful that Max eats the moths, I really am, because those dang things like attacking me in the face. I screeched when one did it the other day and Tom mocked me for it.
“Oh no! Attack of the moths!” he joked as I ran screaming down the hall.
I’m sorry, but they’re disgusting. I don’t want one inches away from my mouth.
The blind was too high to put back up. I knew Tom would have to do it. I was about to turn and head up to bed but then I saw it.
Coming at me!
I knew it! I knew they existed! I was right all along. I was—wait. That’s not an alien.
It’s a tree.
Well. You can see how I’d mistake that for an alien, right? Picture the silhouette of the tree in the dark.
Having the blind down and being able to stare out freaked me out. I ran up to my bed and fell asleep with the cover over my head.
Then the next day I told Tom he’d have to put the blind up.
“Why?” he asked.
Sometimes I don’t get men. What do you mean, WHY? If something falls down, you put it back up. And plus, I didn’t want the scary tree-aliens to peek in on us. Or our neighbors, for that matter. Suppose I decide to walk around the house naked? I mean, I never WOULD but I’d like to be able to make that decision without having to worry about someone gaping at my pale body.
“The trees look like aliens at night,” I explained to Tom, who knows that I get easily spooked.
The hooks for the blinds are way at the top so Tom had to step on my poor stand to get it back up.
“Be careful of my stand!” I warned.
“Be careful of your STAND?” Tom repeated, all insulted. “What about, ‘Be careful dear husband?’”
“Be careful dear husband,” I echoed. “But also, please don’t break my stand!”
He managed to get it up, thank goodness.
So whew. No more tree aliens.