Fine, so I have a vivid imagination.
I can’t help it.
I’m forever thinking that ghosts are lurking around our house or that aliens are scurrying about in the backyard.
It doesn’t help that my husband works the night shift. Usually when he’s around, he can talk me down. For instance I’ll go, “What’s that at the far end of our room? Surely it must be a ghost,” and without missing a beat he’ll go, “Amber, that’s the closet door.” He really doesn't understand my overactive imagination. In fact, he doesn't seem to understand imagination period. For instance I'll say, "Can't you just imagine an entire room filled with chocolate?" and he's all, "No, I don't imagine anymore."
You know that movie Anne of Green Gables? Anne is all, "Marilla, can't you imagine?" and Marilla is all, "No, I cannot." Well, Tom is Marilla. Only he's a dude. He's the dude version of Marilla Cuthbert.
So anyhow, Tom worked last night.
This means when I heard the scraping sound in our room after I had climbed into bed, I assumed it was an alien.
In my defense, it was a sinister scraping sound. It was sort of like, “ssssssSSSSSSsssssssss,” every few seconds.
Well, then of course I started wondering if a SNAKE somehow got into our room because of the “ssssSSSSSSSssss” sound.
I dived under the covers. I’m woman enough to admit that. While I was housed by my blanket I heard the noise again.
“It’s just my imagination,” I whispered.
But then the sound was heard again. It was real. Something was going on.
I had to be brave and check it out.
I peeked out. I didn’t see anything. I started to wonder if I had imagined the sound. Silly me. It would give Tom a laugh when I relayed the story to him. He’d probably—
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” I said and went back under the covers. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so scared if the wind hadn’t been howling outside. We were in the middle of a mini snowstorm so it made things even scarier.
Okay. You are a grown woman. You can do this. Just run across the room and flip on the light. On the count of three. One....two....three.....okay on the next count of three. One...two...
What if it was a snake? What if it bit one of the kids?
I forced myself out of the covers and stretched my arm to the night table. I needed to find a weapon. The only thing I could get a hold of was a picture frame of Tom and I at prom (yes. We’re high school sweethearts. Collective “awwwws” now.) My feet touched the ground and I held the frame out in front of me. I’m not exactly sure what damage I thought it would do. I think at the time I assumed that the sharp points might take out an eye or something.
Wait a minute. It sounded as though the sound was coming from the ceiling. So it couldn’t be a snake. Unless.....
....what if it slithered up the wall?!
I just wanted Tom to be home at that point. Then HE could have dealt with the maybe snake. But no. It was just me.
I took another step. And that’s when I saw it.
I threw the frame down on it and jumped back on the bed just in case the snake struck. But…it didn’t move.
And then when I peered closer, I realized it was my bra. I had thrown the frame at my bra.
Well, in my defense, it looks like a snake in the dark.
So if there wasn’t a snake in the room, what was the noise? I turned on the light and looked around.
I glanced up.
It was a balloon.
It was a balloon scraping against the ceiling thanks to the ceiling fan. See, we got that balloon for Natalie’s birthday. Natalie’s birthday, it should be pointed out, was on the 19th of March. Why is the balloon still here? Well, because the cat chewed on the string. The balloon floated upwards. It was just forgotten. It had been in the kid’s bathroom the past few days and I suppose it had come into the room.
I freaked out over a balloon.
And a bra.
I need a vacation.